


Shot!

by katedf



Category: Death in Paradise
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-03
Updated: 2015-05-15
Packaged: 2018-01-07 06:23:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 24,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1116554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katedf/pseuds/katedf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Richard is shot and as a result, his relationship with Camille undergoes a series of changes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Bang!

**Author's Note:**

> I started this ages ago, but got stalled trying to find an ending. But now I've worked that out, I'm ready to start posting. Less fluffy than my recent stuff, but despite the title I am NOT in league with the BBC and there is NO MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH!

Richard trudged up the steps to the station, muttering about the heat. As Camille crossed the room, she could see him. Same old Richard—suit, tie, briefcase, cranky expression on his face. Suddenly, a shot rang out and Richard collapsed onto the steps.

“Richard!” Camille screamed as she bolted for the door. Dwayne grabbed her arm and held her back. Cautiously, Fidel looked out the door to assess the situation. The market was chaos, with people running in all directions. 

“There!” Fidel shouted, “Black shirt, tan shorts, heading for the dock.”

“I see him!” Dwayne replied as Camille wriggled out of his grasp and ran to the figure on the steps. Dwayne pulled a gun from under his desk and ran out of the station, Fidel right behind him.

“Call a bus!” Dwayne yelled at Camille as he ran past.

“She didn’t hear you,” Fidel said, as he tried to run and dial his mobile at the same time. When emergency services answered, he gasped, “Officer down, Honoré Station, gunshot, send a bus NOW!”

The shooter stopped to untie a boat, which gave Dwayne time to get close enough to take a shot. He hit his target and the man tumbled off the dock. 

Fidel caught up in time to say, “Good shot, man.”

They heard splashing and cursing from the water, so they walked to the edge of the dock. The shooter had lost his gun, and was flailing around. 

“Get me the hell out of the water!”

Dwayne looked around. “Fidel, did you hear something?”

“I might have. What do you think it is?”

“I dunno. Never heard garbage talk before.”

“You’re the fucking POLICE. You’re supposed to rescue me,” the shooter yelled.

“We are police,” said Dwayne. “And you just shot our chief. We’re worried about him just now, see, so we’re a bit distracted. Plus, you’re a dangerous gunman. We probably should wait for backup.”

“You shot me! My leg hurts and it’s bleeding. It’s gonna attract sharks!”

Dwayne and Fidel exchanged exasperated looks. Fidel said, “There are small sharks out on the reef, but we’ve never had a shark attack in Honoré. We’ll toss you a line and pull you out.”

“But one bad move,” Dwayne added, “And you’re back in the water. Got it?”

By this time the ambulance had arrived and the EMTs were busy attending to Richard. Fidel walked over to the ambulance to ask for a wheelchair for the shooter. Before he could ask, the EMT pounced on him.

“Thank God! Can you get her off him?” The EMT pointed to the scene on the steps, where Camille was clinging to Richard.

“I’ll see what I can do.” Fidel pointed toward the pier. “My partner is over there with the shooter. Gunshot wound in the leg. The guy’s mad as hell, but he’ll live.”

When Fidel reached the group on the steps, one of the EMTs looked up, gestured to show he wanted Camille removed from Richard and mouthed _help_. 

Fidel nodded and asked, “How is he?”

“He was lucky. The wound is just a graze. But he hit his head when he fell and we need to get him to the hospital to check for concussion.”

“Fidel put his hands on Camille’s shoulders. “Camille? You have to let go.”

“No!”

“Camille, it’s me, Fidel. I’ll take you to the hospital so you can see him. But you have to let the medics take care of him. Come on.” He pulled her away gently, and she fell against him sobbing.

Fidel watched as the EMTs loaded Richard onto a gurney. For one second, Richard’s eyes opened. He murmured, “C’mille?” and passed out again.

The EMT in charge looked at Fidel and said, “She’s in shock. We should bring her in, too.”

“Can’t. You’ve got the shooter to transport.” Fidel pointed to the man in the wheelchair. “Because he’s in custody, an officer has to go along. There’s no room for her. I’ll take care of her here and get her to the hospital as soon as I can.”

Fidel managed to guide Camille to the bench on the porch. He held her and let her cry while he watched the EMTs load Richard into the ambulance. Catherine appeared on the scene at that moment. Fidel could see the shock on her face when she saw Richard, and then the relief when she looked at the station and saw her daughter. 

Catherine ran up the steps, cursing the idiot who designed her shoes and the other idiot who put the station on a hillside. “What happened?”

“Maman!” Camille wailed, and Fidel got up to allow Catherine to sit with her. While Catherine comforted her daughter, Fidel explained what had happened, stressing that Richard did not appear to be seriously injured. 

A police car from Government House pulled up, and Fidel took charge of the backup officers. He requested a Coast Guard diver to search for the gun and was explaining where the shooter had hit the water when the Commissioner arrived. Patterson watched the young sergeant. Yes, Poole had been right to put him forward for a promotion. The young man had great promise. 

The backup officers scattered to their tasks, and Fidel saw the Commissioner standing nearby. 

“Sir! I didn’t see you, I was—”

“No need to explain. You were handling the important details. Well, done Sergeant. A quick summary, if you please?” The Commissioner headed for the steps, and Fidel filled him in.”

“Gunshot isn’t bad, but the Chief hit his head when he fell. Shooter is the brother of Vicky Woodward. The Chief is scheduled to testify at her trial. Dwayne and I figure Woodward thought getting the Chief out of the way would help his sister avoid conviction. They’re both on the way to the hospital. Dwayne is with them. Camille was, um, very upset. Catherine is with her now. The EMTs said Camille should be looked at for shock, so as soon as things are settled here, I’ll drive her to the hospital.”

The Commissioner looked up just as Camille ran to the railing at the end of the veranda and vomited over the side. He nodded his head and said, “Shock. I’ll take her. You should stay here and write up a statement while it’s still fresh in your mind. And be on point for the backup.” 

“Yes, sir.” Fidel went to his desk, leaving the Commissioner and Catherine to take care of Camille.


	2. A Difficult Patient

Richard regained consciousness on the way to the hospital.

“Ow! That’s tight!”

“Sorry, sir,” said the EMT as he released the pressure on the cuff of the sphygmomanometer. “Just checking your blood pressure. Do you know what happened?”

“No. I was on my way to work and I woke up here.”

“Do you know where you are?”

“In an ambulance by the look of things.”

The EMT sighed and said, “Right, I meant what town?”

“How should I know, I can’t see out the windows,” Richard grumbled. Dwayne had to stifle a chuckle. The Chief could be incredibly literal. Woodward started to make a comment but Dwayne shushed him.

“Ohhhkaay, let’s try this,” said the EMT. “Where do you work?”

“Honoré Police station.”

“And where is that?”

“On Saint Marie. And while you’re asking, my name is Richard Poole, and I’m a Detective Inspector with the Metropolitan Police on assignment to Saint Marie. I’m a Pisces, I’m single…what else do you need to know? Do you want me to recite times tables or something like that?”

“I think that’s good. Looks like there’s no amnesia.”

“All right, then. Tell me what happened.”

“You were shot and you fell.”

“Where?”

“You were shot in the head,” said the EMT. Seeing Richard struggle to move his hands, he said, “Sorry, you’re strapped in. You’re not wounded badly, just a graze. You hit your head when you fell. Hard to know which caused you to lose consciousness. The doctor will tell you more about your condition. But you’re lucky on the gunshot wound. It’s good the shooter had such poor aim.

“Hey!” said Woodward. “It was a difficult angle.”

Dwayne slapped him on the side of the head and said, “Shut up or I’ll have you gagged.”

“Dwayne?” asked Richard. 

“Right here, Chief. Got the shooter.”

“Fast apprehension. Why is he in the ambulance?”

“I shot him in the leg.”

“And it hurts!” Woodward grumbled.

Dwayne slapped him again and said, “Shut up!”

“Well, done Dwayne!” Richard relaxed and closed his eyes. “Damn, my head hurts.”

-o-o-o-o-

By the time the Commissioner and Camille reached the hospital, Richard had been taken to the Imaging Department for an MRI. Woodward was bandaged and ready to be released into police custody. Dwayne had his mobile out to call for transport when he saw the Commissioner.

“Sir!” Dwayne snapped to attention.

Camille grabbed Dwayne’s hand and asked, “How is he?”

“Hurts like hell,” said a voice behind Dwayne.

Seeing Camille’s confused look, Dwayne said, “That’s the shooter. No! Leave him be. I had to shoot him in the leg to stop him.”

“And it hurts like hell!”

“If you don’t shut up, you slime, I’ll make it hurt a whole lot worse!” Camille hissed at the man in the wheelchair. Then she looked at Dwayne and said, “So, how IS he?”

“Bullet grazed his head, and he hit his head on the step when he fell. He came to in the ambulance and was his usual pain-in-the-ass self.” Suddenly, Dwayne remembered that the Commissioner was there. He looked around quickly, but saw that the man was not within earshot. Relaxing, he added, “Doctor Dwayne says he’s going to be fine. What about you? You were pretty upset.”

“I’m okay now.”

“You sure? The EMTs thought you should be seen by a doctor. Maybe something, I don’t know, Valium maybe?”

“No! I’m all right and I don’t want to be doped up.”

The Commissioner returned to them, pocketing his phone. He asked Dwayne, “You came here in the ambulance?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You’ll need transport. I’ve arranged for him to be taken to the jail at Government House. I believe Sergeant Best will be here shortly, so he can see you two home. The nurse told me that the Inspector is getting an MRI and will be admitted after that. You should be able to see him then. Please give him my best wishes for a speedy recovery.” The Commissioner gave Camille’s shoulder a gentle squeeze and then left. 

-o-o-o-o-

Richard was not pleased to be admitted to the hospital. “It’s just a bump on the head,” he complained.

“It could be a concussion,” said Dr. Cooper. “It’s just overnight. We want to make sure there’s no swelling of the brain. If you bumped your head hard enough to pass out, I will not send you home today. If there are no complications, you should be able to go home tomorrow. How’s the headache?”

“Still there but not as bad as it was.”

“Good. We’ll try to manage it with ibuprofen. Your friends may visit for a few minutes, but then I want you to rest.”

“I thought I’m not supposed to sleep.”

“We’ll check on you to make sure you aren’t comatose. So sleep if you want. Or watch TV. I’ll see you later.”

The team chatted with their Chief for a few minutes. Then a nurse came in and told them it was time to leave. Fidel and Dwayne wished Richard well and left. Camille asked for another minute.

“Can I get you anything before we leave?”

“An escape plan.”

“Richard!” she said in that tone of voice she used when she meant business. “You can’t go home today. Think about Natasha Richardson. She fell skiing, thought it was no big deal, and she was dead the next day. I don’t—we don’t want that to happen to you. Watch TV.”

She turned on the television. Richard groaned when a French program came on.

“Oh, stop!” said Camille. She pressed a sequence of buttons known only to her, and the TV changed to English programming. She handed him the remote and said, “I don’t know which channels you’ll get. Just scroll up and down and you won’t mess it up.”

“Thank you, Camille. I’m sorry I’m such a cranky patient.”

She smiled, thinking that he was cranky so much of the time that this didn’t seem very different. But all she said was “Behave yourself. Call me if you need anything.”

As she turned to go, he reached out for her hand. She turned back to him, squeezed his hand, and left.


	3. Nurse Camille

The next morning, Camille arrived at the hospital before visiting hours, but her police ID got her in. Richard looked up from his breakfast when she entered his room.

“Camille! You’re here early.”

“Good morning, how are you feeling?”

“I’m fine. What have you learned about the shooter?”

“It’s being handled. How’s your headache? Any vision problems? Are you depressed? Do you—”

“You’ve been on the Internet, I see.”

“It’s what you would do,” said Camille. “You should be pleased that I’m following your example.”

“Who is the shooter?”

“How’s your headache?”

“Camille!” Richard growled.

“Okay, neutral topic. How’s the hospital food?”

“Decent. The oatmeal is very good.”

“Then finish it before it gets cold.”

“Then tell me about the shooter while I eat.”

“It’s Vicky Woodward’s brother. It seems he thought her trial would be cancelled if you were unable to testify. Unable, as in dead, but fortunately, he’s a poor marksman. Her lawyer is representing him, so he’s done talking.” 

“What else?”

“Time for a trade. How is your headache?”

“So-so. I’m due for a pill after breakfast. Then I’m going home.”

“The doctor will decide that,” said Camille, using her I’m-a-police-officer-so-don’t-argue tone of voice.

“What about the gun?”

“When Dwayne shot him, Woodward fell into the water and dropped the gun. So no gunshot residue left. A diver did recover the gun, and it’s gone to the lab for a good look. No hope of ballistics, though. The bullet was too badly damaged.”

“Why?”

“Much as I’d like to say it was your hard head that did it, the bullet hit a very hard stone in the foundation of the station. Okay, that’s two questions. Time for one of mine. How is your vision? Any blurring or double-vision?”

“I can see perfectly. I told you, I’m fine. What else? Any witnesses?”

“The backup from Government house canvassed the crowd. Everyone scattered at the sound of the shot, but when they saw the ambulance, of course they all came back to gawk. There were some witnesses, but I haven’t seen the statements yet. There might be a photo. You know how people are when something happens—whip out the phone and grab a shot that could be sold to the news. Oh, I forgot to add, a reporter has already been to the station to ask questions.”

“I hope nobody—”

“Of course not! Just a brief official statement. We do know how to do our jobs, even when you aren’t there.”

“Sorry, I know you do. What’s in the bag?” Richard pointed to the totebag Camille had set on the floor. 

“Some fresh clothing for when they let you go home.”

“You went to my house? You poked around in my closet?”

“Mm hmm, and your underwear drawer, too. It was like touching the Shroud of Turin!” Seeing Richard’s blank look, she added, “Pop culture reference. It’s from a movie."

Before Richard could reply, Dr. Cooper arrived. Camille put the bag in the closet and excused herself to get some coffee while the doctor examined his patient. 

When Camille returned, the doctor was gone and a nurse was leaving the room.

“What’s happening?” she asked.

“I’ve just had my pill. They’re taking me for another scan, and if there’s no swelling I get to go home.”

“Someone will have to stay with you.”

“I’ll be fine on my own. It’s just a bump on the head. My only symptom is the headache. I’m not dizzy, I can see, I’m not depressed—although I will be if they don’t let me out of here—and I’m not dozing off at odd moments.”

“You’ll probably be at Imaging for a while, so I’ll go. If they do release you, call me and someone will come here to get you.”

-o-o-o-o-

Fidel picked up Richard at the hospital. When they arrived at the beach house, Camille was already there, putting away provisions, having visited the market and raided the fridge at La Kaz. She frowned when she saw Richard dressed in his suit and wearing a tie.

“Fidel! You were under orders to keep him from wearing the tie and jacket!”

“Sorry, Camille, but he outranks you.”

Camille glared at Fidel then turned to Richard, “You should be in bed, not walking around in a suit.

“I’m fine.”

“Fidel, what did the doctor say?”

“Rest at home for a few days.” Seeing Richard’s frown he added, “Sorry, sir, but it’s for your own good.”

Richard sat in the large wicker chair. “Okay, I’m home, I’m resting. Happy?”

“Not yet. Tie!” Camille held out her hand. 

Richard scowled at her.

Finger snap. “Now!”

Richard sighed and removed the tie.

“And the jacket.”

Sensing that a standoff followed by an argument was about to occur, Fidel left.

“Richard, getting overheated isn’t good for you. You aren’t at work, so take off the damn jacket.”

“I’m supposed to rest. How can I rest with you standing there yelling at me?”

“Take off the jacket and I’ll be quiet.”

“Yes, Nurse Ratched,” Richard said as he took off his jacket. He headed for the closet, but Camille took the jacket from him and said “Sit.”

He returned to the chair. She hung up the tie and jacket and asked, “Who’s Nurse Ratched?”

“Pop culture reference. It’s from a book.”

“Oh.” Camille frowned slightly. The name was vaguely familiar, and somehow she didn’t think it was a compliment. She’d try to remember to Google it later.

“Would you like lunch?” she asked.

“I don’t have a lot in the fridge.”

“That’s all right. I went to the market and I raided the fridge at La Kaz.”

“Please tell me it isn’t chicken soup.” 

“No. It’s chicken, but in a salad. I just have to put it together. And I’ll make tea.” Camille disappeared down the stairs, and Richard listened to cabinet doors and drawers being opened and closed. He couldn’t decide if it was nice that she wanted to take care of him or if her fussing would drive him crazy. He leaned his head back and sighed. He’d think about it after lunch.

Camille came up the stairs carrying two plates. She stopped when she saw Richard. Had he fallen asleep or passed out? She took a step closer.

“Richard? Are you all right?”

“I’m resting. Isn’t that what you told me to do?”

“Oh. Lunch is ready. Can you come out to the table on the veranda?”

“Of course I can. I’m not an invalid.”

“Sorry. I’ll be right back with your tea.”

Richard looked around for somewhere to ditch the chicken if he didn’t like it. He poked at it. He could see pieces of chicken, black beans, mango, possibly melon, and something green. Camille arrived with the tea just as he took a small taste. 

“Camille, this is very good! And not too spicy.”

“Concussion can cause nausea, so I thought something bland would be good.”

“It is. I can’t believe your mother made something with so little spice.”

“No, I made it. Maman always has staples like cooked chicken on hand, and I picked up the other things in the market. It’s a good thing I planned on something without spices because you have none in your kitchen.”

“My cooking tends to be pretty simple.”

“I guess so.”

-o-o-o-o-

After lunch, Richard took his next pill. Camille grilled him on his symptoms. Even if the headache hadn’t been getting better, he would have said that it was just to get her to stop fussing.

“Maybe you should take a nap.”

“I don’t nap.”

“But you’re supposed to rest.”

“Sitting still and reading is restful.”

“But—”

“I’ve spent the last twenty-four hours being told to sleep, then wakened and prodded, then told to sleep again. If I take a nap, I won’t be able to sleep tonight. Stop hovering, I’m fine! Don’t you have work to do?”

“No. This is my work today.”

“If you want to go to the station, I’ll be all right here.”

“If I go back to the station, Maman will come here to take care of you. Do you want that?”

Richard sighed, “I’m beginning to think I was better off in hospital.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Does anyone recognize the pop culture references?


	4. A Synonym for Bossy ...

The afternoon was mostly quiet. After lunch, Richard spent some time on his computer while Camille took a walk on the beach and used the privacy to call the station and report on Richard. She also called Dr. Cooper and left a message that Richard had eaten lunch and claimed the headache was getting better. Then she called her mother. Catherine answered quickly.

_“Camille! How is he?”_

“Cranky.”

_“Ma chère, he’s always cranky.”_

“This is a whole new level of cranky. But he says he’s feeling better. I made a chicken-fruit salad for lunch and he liked it.”

_“So not completely cranky?”_

“I suppose. But he refuses to take a nap, and he says I’m fussing too much.” Hearing Catherine laugh, Camille said, “What?”

_“Oh, Camille, it sounds like you and me when you were a little girl. I would tell you it was naptime and you’d stomp your little foot and say you weren’t tired. He’ll sleep when he needs to. What about supper? Did you plan something?”_

“I have food in the fridge. I can put something together.”

_“Can I send anything over from here? I’m sure Fidel would be happy to deliver it.”_

“No, I’ll cook. It keeps me from hovering.”

_“If you need anything, call me.”_

“Oh! I almost forgot. Do you know who Nurse Ratched is? Richard says she’s from a book.”

_“Oh, dear! Did he call you that?”_ Catherine laughed again.

“Yes. What does it mean?”

_“I know the name from a movie, but I suppose the movie is based on a book. She’s a very nasty nurse in a mental institution. And she did not get along with the main character. I forget his name, but it was Jack Nicholson in the movie. I’m sorry to laugh, Ma Chère, but her name has become kind of a, what’s the term? Means the same?”_

“Synonym?”

_“Yes, her name is sort of a synonym for bossy bitch. Perhaps you should ease off, Camille. More Florence Nightingale, less Nurse Ratched.”_

-o-o-o-o-

When Camille returned from her walk, Richard was still online. 

“Ha!” he said. “Found it!”

“What did you find?” 

“The reference to the underwear drawer. It’s from a movie called _Sabrina._ Google and IMDB never let me down!”

“Mm hmm,” Camille said crossly. “And is that where you found Nurse Ratched?” 

“No, I read the book. But I believe the actress who played her won a BAFTA for her performance. She made the character into—”

“A synonym for bossy bitch, I know. And while I’m being a bossy bitch nurse, I think it’s time for you to shut down the computer. The light from the screen might be giving your brain too much stimulation.”

“That’s preposterous!”

“No it isn’t. They say you should limit your time on the computer or in front of the TV in the evening because it overstimulates your brain, which can make it difficult to fall asleep. And considering your injury, you shouldn’t overstimulate your brain.”

“It’s the middle of the day. I don’t need to fall asleep.”

“But you—”

“No, I am NOT going to take a nap. We covered that ground earlier. Even with my damaged and supposedly overstimulated brain, I can remember that.”

“I still think you should limit time in front of the screen.”

“Fine. I’ll read.” Richard took a book from his desk and held it up. “The printed word! And better than your beloved Kindle. This has no light emitting devices to pummel my retinas with photons.”

Richard sat in his large wicker chair and opened the book. He gave Camille a don’t-even-try-it glare, so she allowed him to read his book and took her Kindle out to the veranda. 

-o-o-o-o-

Camille made dinner and refused to let Richard do the washing up. She sent him to sit somewhere and relax. He had to admit, her cooking was better than his, but she had been there all day, and he wanted some time alone. He read until she finished in the kitchen and joined him upstairs.

Looking up from the book, Richard said, “Thank you for dinner and lunch and all you’ve done. I’m fine now—”

“Did you take your pill?”

“Yes, I did. Right after dinner, as prescribed. My headache is down to almost nonexistent, so you don’t have to worry. I’ll be fine here on my own. 

“I don’t think so.”

“Camille, I’ll be perfectly fine.”

“Someone should stay and keep an eye on you.”

“That’s only for the first night. The hospital did that. I’d like to sleep through tonight.”

“Then go to bed. I’ll be out on the veranda.” Camille took her Kindle to the veranda so that Richard could get himself into bed and get to sleep.

After a few hours, she went inside to check on her patient. Richard was sound asleep, and yes, wearing blue striped pajamas. Without the perpetual scowl, his face was smoother, younger looking. He mumbled something and rolled over. Camille watched him for a minute and then went back to reading on the veranda.

A few hours later, she went inside again. He’d been asleep for several hours. 

“Richard?” she said softly. “Richard?”

When he didn’t wake, she gently shook his shoulder.

“Go ’way,” he swatted at her, half awake. “Go home, I’m fine.”

And he fell asleep again. Camille was getting drowsy, so she changed into an oversized t-shirt and curled up in his chair. How was he able to sleep in this thing? No matter what she did, she couldn’t find a comfortable position. Meanwhile, Richard was sound asleep. Camille could hear him snoring softly. She was pretty sure that meant he wasn’t in a coma. But considering how difficult it had been to wake him, it probably wouldn’t bother him if she stretched out on the bed for a while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Camille is wrong. A comatose patient can snore. But, fear not, Richard isn’t in a coma. 
> 
> Also, Camille is right to try to limit his computer time. I recently saw a segment on the news that said recovery from a concussion should include very little mental work. They were talking mostly about sports injury in students and how schoolwork/homework should be limited after a concussion. Video games and TV also should be limited.


	5. Desire and Panic

Richard woke around 2 AM. He rolled onto his side and saw Camille lying on her back, sound asleep. His first thought was that, despite what she had told him, she wasn’t sleeping naked. Probably just as well. The thought of a naked Camille in bed next to him was distracting, to say the least. The sight of a t-shirt clad Camille in bed next to him wasn’t much less distracting. 

His eyes roamed up and down her body. She was slender, yet he knew how strong she was. He smiled remembering the time she’d said she could probably take him in a fist fight. In the weak moonlight, he could just make out the curve of her breast. Not very large, but perfectly shaped. He thought of the large-breasted women they seemed to encounter on cases, and Camille’s reproofs about his tendency to ogle. He couldn’t help it. It was natural, a behavior hard-wired into him. Hell, it was a product of evolution—secondary sex characteristics evolved to attract a mate and secure the future of the species. He’d have to tell her that the next time she started on him about ogling. Who was he to fight millennia of evolutionary change?

Of course, some women cheated. Richard remembered the time he’d watched the augmentation surgery. He’d joked that he was scarred for life by that experience. In a way, it was true. Perhaps not scarred, exactly, but changed. Ever since then, when he’d seen large breasts, he wondered if they were real and found them less stimulating. Lately, he’d begun to appreciate a more natural shape. Most of the time, anyway. He didn’t think he’d find Camille any more desirable than he already did if she had a pair of grapefruits on her chest. Pondering breasts, fake (half the women on Saint Marie) versus natural (Camille), he fell asleep.

o-o-o-o-

Around 3 AM, Camille woke to the very pleasant sensation caused by a hand resting on her breast. Slowly, she opened her eyes and turned her head to look at Richard. He was on his side, asleep, and yes, that was his hand on her breast. She lay still, enjoying the sensation. His thumb traced a path back and forth and a shudder of pleasure raced through her body. Ohhh, if only this were real.

But she knew it wasn’t. He was asleep. He didn’t know it was _her_ breast. He’d rolled over in his sleep and his hand just happened to wander there. It wasn’t as if he desired _her._ And she couldn’t compete very well in that department anyhow. She remembered the women he’d ogled. He’d seen the surgery, for heaven’s sake! Didn’t he have a clue how many women were augmented? She wouldn’t do that for any man. If a man didn’t want her with the body she had, then he wasn’t worth her time. 

She felt his hand move again, and his body moved closer to hers. Now she was certain he was asleep. A fully conscious Richard would have scuttled away rather than get so close to her in this condition. The problem was, she was aroused, too. 

“Richard?” she said softly, turning her head toward him.

“Hmm?”

“Richard, are you awake?”

“Camille?” his eyes opened and he smiled. “Do you know how beautiful you are?”

She looked at him, eyes wide, unable to answer. Her brain was racing. He was awake. He’d said her name, so he knew who it was next to him. So…

He kissed her. _Finally!_ she thought, and kissed him back.

He pulled back and looked at her again. “Do you know how long I’ve wanted you?”

“No,” Camille whispered breathlessly. She would have said this was a dream except that she could feel him trailing kisses down her neck.

“Neither do I,” he whispered. “I can’t remember a time when I didn’t want you.”

Camille rolled toward him, wrapping a leg around him. “I want you, too.”

Richard reached around and pulled her closer. He was under the sheet; she was on top of it. “Too much in the way,” he grumbled between kisses. “I thought you slept naked.”

“I do, at home,” Camille replied. “Should I take it off?”

“No, let me.” Richard rolled onto his back, pulling Camille with him, causing her to sit straddling his legs. He pulled the shirt up and over her head, then threw it in the general direction of the foot of the bed. He gasped as he looked at her. “You’re a goddess!”

The sheet and his pajamas were still in the way, but they frantically solved that problem. Then she was on her back again, and he was running his hand along her body, caressing, kissing. As he continued to explore her, she moaned and whispered, “Please, Richard, please!” And that was all the encouragement he needed.

It was over more quickly than he would have liked. He groaned and said her name, then flopped on his back, breathless. 

“Oh, God, Camille, you’re so…so perfect, so beautiful. So incredibly hot. A body like yours deserves better. Tell me what to do to please you. I know I didn’t… but…”

Camille stifled his rambling with a kiss, and snuggled next to him. “It’s all right. There’s always next time.”

“No, now.” They continued to kiss and caress and then he said, “Oh, God, Camille, I want you!”

The second time lasted much longer, and they were both thoroughly pleased. They soon fell asleep in each other’s arms.

-o-o-o-o-

Richard had fallen deeply asleep, but Camille only dozed and then lay awake. If she had to choose one word to describe how she felt, it would have been _stupefied._ She never would have thought someone as serious and uptight as Richard could be such an uninhibited and enthusiastic lover. She stifled a giggle when she recalled how verbal he’d been, too. Then she sighed when she remembered how he’d said her name. 

Camille was sorry that Richard had been shot. But at least some good had come of it. He’d said he’d wanted her for a long time. Funny how a life-threatening experience can make a person take stock and decide to act on a long-repressed desire. It had affected her that way, too. She’d known that she was fond of Richard. But when she saw him lying there on the steps, the fear that he might be dead made her admit to herself that she loved him.

-o-o-o-o-

Richard woke about an hour after Camille had finally fallen asleep. At first he thought it had been an unusually vivid dream, possibly brought on by the concussion. But he heard a sigh and when he turned his head, he saw Camille, naked and sprawled on his bed, sound asleep. His first thought was that she was incredibly beautiful. His second thought was that it hadn’t been a dream. His third thought was that he wanted her again. 

And his fourth thought was panic. They should never have done this. It was wrong. He was her superior and it was unethical. He’d spent months convincing himself that it could never happen because (a) he wasn’t supposed to want her, and (b) she’d never want him anyhow. But she _had_ wanted him. And they—he—had been… he didn’t know how to describe it. His experience was rather limited, and he’d never felt so free to do anything that pleased him, or her, or both of them. This just wasn’t like him. Richard Poole did not get carried away like that. Or at least he never had before. But then, he’d never had a concussion before.

-o-o-o-o-

Camille woke and saw the blue glow. 

“Richard? What are you doing?”

“Go back to sleep.”

“No, you’re the one who should go back to sleep. It isn’t good for you to be on your computer in the dark like that.” Camille sat up and looked at Richard. He’d dressed in his pajamas again, and he was sitting at his desk, frowning at his computer.

“Whatever it is, it can wait until morning.”

“I couldn’t sleep.”

“Why? What are you doing?”

“Researching post-concussion symptoms.”

“Now? Why?”

“Because I need to understand what happened.”

“What are you talking about?”

“This can’t be right. I’ve read three sets of symptoms on three sites and they all say that a decreased sex drive can follow a concussion.”

Camille chuckled, and got out of bed. She wrapped her arms around Richard and said, “Well, if that was a _decreased_ sex drive…”

“No! That’s just the point. I would never—I mean we shouldn’t have—and I can’t explain it, but…”

“But nothing. It was wonderful. And you’re very impressive,” she murmured into his ear.

“Stop it!” Richard pushed her away. “Camille, you shouldn’t have let this happen. I’m obviously not in my right mind, but as the one with all your faculties intact, you should have stopped me.”

“I didn’t want to stop you.”

“But you should have. We can’t do this.”

“Umm, a little late, Richard. We just _did.”_

“But we shouldn’t have!”

“Fine!” Camille snapped. She found her t-shirt and yanked it on over her head. If she noticed it was inside-out, she didn’t care. She dropped into the large wicker chair. 

“What are you doing?”

“Sleeping in your bed was a bad idea, so I’m being the responsible person here. Go back to bed.” She got up and slammed his laptop closed. She snapped her fingers and pointed to the bed. He obediently returned to bed and she curled up in the chair with her back to him.

Camille couldn’t get to sleep. From the sounds of Richard tossing and turning, he couldn’t either. Good, she thought, he deserved to be miserable. It took all the willpower she could summon not to cry audibly. She would not let him see how much he had hurt her. 

Eventually, Richard became quiet. Camille turned to look at him, and saw he’d fallen asleep. How did she let herself fall in love with this emotionally stunted Englishman? She’d been right earlier, when she thought it wasn’t real. He’d been very verbal during sex, but the one thing he hadn’t said tonight was that he loved her. It hadn’t mattered that it was her. Any female body nearby would have been acceptable. 

For all that Richard assumed a beautiful woman like Camille would be more experienced than he was, she hadn’t had many partners. She didn’t give away her body or her heart that easily. She’d given both to Richard, and now he didn’t want her.

Camille knew she wouldn’t sleep any more. She quietly picked up her clothing and got dressed. The moon was low in the sky, shining on the water. She walked a short distance along the beach and sat down to watch the waves. She cried until she didn’t think she’d ever be able to cry again. 

Richard woke and noticed that Camille was no longer in the chair. He sat up and looked around. Just then, she tiptoed back into the house to get her purse. 

“Camille?”

“Go back to sleep. I’m going home. God forbid I tempt you any more in your weakened condition.”

“Look, I’m sorry. People do stupid things after a near-death experience.”

“Stupid? You think I’m stupid?”

“Not _you._ What we _did._ Ill advised, then. Is that better? Any way I say it, it was wrong, and it shouldn’t have happened. It wouldn’t have if I hadn’t been shot in the head.” Richard rubbed his sore head.

“Yeah? Well, I feel like I was just shot in the heart, so forgive me if I don’t have much sympathy for your head.” Camille turned and stomped away.


	6. Escape

“You should take this up with Inspector Poole when he returns to work. I believe the doctor will clear him for active duty in a few days.”

“I’d prefer to settle this now, sir.”

“Perhaps you would, Camille, but I think you owe it to him to follow procedure.” Commissioner Patterson frowned slightly, wondering why Camille was so insistent. 

“I’m not asking to leave before he returns to work. I just want to have everything in place so that I can go right away. In his absence, you’re my superior so I’m asking you.” Camille didn’t want to give any further explanation, so she hoped this would corner Patterson.

He sighed and reached for the form on his desk. 

“I do have the time accrued. Please, sir. I need to just sit on a beach and, um, regroup. Be somewhere that I will not have to think about murder and shootings.” _and Richard_

“Very well. One week’s leave time, effective upon the return of the Inspector to active duty.” Patterson signed the request and handed Camille her copy. “Enjoy your holiday.”

-o-o-o-o-

As she drove back to the station, Camille passed Richard’s house. She wondered what he was doing, but she didn’t stop to find out. He’d called several times, but she didn’t answer. One week wouldn’t fix everything, but it would give her some time away from him, time to get her emotions under control. In the time that Richard had been on Saint Marie, their relationship had progressed from hostile to friendly. Then one gunshot changed everything. The emotional rollercoaster that followed had left her exhausted.

Her phone rang again as she parked the Defender at the station. She glanced at the caller ID and told it to go to hell. 

As soon as she walked into the station, Fidel said, “Camille, are you all right? The Chief called and said you weren’t answering your phone. You should call him. He sounded worried.”

_I’ll just bet he was._ said the angry voice in her head. She started to give Fidel a more civil answer when her phone rang again. She couldn’t avoid answering it now, so she sat in her desk chair and turned away from Dwayne and Fidel.

“Bordey.”

_“Camille? Are you all right? You haven’t answered your phone.”_

“Sorry, I was driving and it slid out of my purse onto the floor. I couldn’t pick it up without causing an accident.”

_“And the dozen other times I’ve called?”_

“How are you feeling, sir?”

_“Camille!”_

“Has the headache gone? And the other side effects, are they getting better?”

_“Camille I need to talk to you. I’m so sorry and—”_

“Is there anything you need, anything we can do?”

_“Yes, you can talk to me!”_

“When is your doctor appointment? Do you need a ride?”

_“Tomorrow, 2 PM. But I want to talk to you today. Please, Camille!”_

“One of us can drive you. Call the station when you’re ready to go. Meanwhile, you should rest.”

_“Bugger resting! I’m going to walk to the station if you won’t come out here and talk to me.”_

“That isn’t a good idea, sir. You know you need to rest. Don’t make me send Dwayne and Fidel to keep you under house arrest.”

_“Well, at least check your email.”_

“You should rest now, sir. Bye.”

Camille ended the call before Richard could say anything more. When she turned around, both Dwayne and Fidel were looking at her worriedly.

“He’s restless, and wants to come back to work. If he shows up here, you two stuff him into the Defender and take him home. He’s on doctor’s orders to rest. His appointment is tomorrow at two. Fidel, will you drive him?”

“Sure, Camille. But you don’t want to?”

“No. I’d appreciate it if you would.”

“Oh, okay.” 

Camille turned to face her desk. Fidel looked over at Dwayne, who shrugged. Neither man had any idea why Camille suddenly had no desire to see the Chief. Considering her reaction when he’d been shot, it made no sense. They were curious. There was probably a reason; most likely the Chief had been difficult and she was annoyed with him. Best not to ask and get her annoyed at them, too.

-o-o-o-o-

The next afternoon, Fidel returned to the station and announced that the Chief had been declared fit for service.

“He wanted to come right in, of course,” Fidel chuckled. “But the doctor specifically said as of tomorrow morning.”

“Well, good,” said Dwayne. “I haven’t heard anyone complain about the heat in days. Can’t believe I missed that. I suppose he wore a suit and tie to the doctor visit?”

“Yes.”

“And he complained about the heat?”

“Yes.”

“That’s our Chief, back to normal,” Dwayne laughed. “Wouldn’t you say so, Camille?”

“Hmm? Yes, sounds like it.”

Dwayne and Fidel exchanged confused looks. She didn’t seem to care if the Chief ever came back to work. 

-o-o-o-o-

Richard was ready for work early. Even though it would be a short ride to the station, it would give him a few minutes to try to apologize to Camille. He’d almost worn out his mobile leaving messages and sending texts. And he’d lost count of the number of emails he’d sent. He was fairly certain they’d all been deleted without being listened to or read. 

He glanced at his watch. Camille was late. Fidel had said he would tell the rest of the team that Richard would be back today. She always picked him up, and often was early. Well, she probably didn’t want to be early. She would no longer find amusement at catching him in his pajamas. No, they would be better off fully clothed. He hoped she wouldn’t wear anything too skimpy. His memories were strong enough without being jogged. 

“Good morning, sir.”

Richard was surprised to hear Fidel’s voice.

“Good morning, Fidel. I expected—that is, I didn’t—is there a new case?” 

“No, sir. Camille sent me a text asking me to pick you up this morning.”

“Oh.” Richard tried not to sound disappointed. As he got into the Defender, he tried to think of a way to talk to Camille. If they were all in the station all day, she’d make sure they were never alone.

“Mornin’ Chief, welcome back,” Dwayne greeted him at the station. 

“Good morning, Dwayne. It’s good to be back,” said Richard, more heartily than he felt. Trying to sound casual, he asked, “Where’s Camille this morning?”

“On holiday,” said Dwayne. “She closed up last night, and left a note on my desk. She just said she has a week’s leave. Didn’t say where she’s going. There’s probably more information in a note to you.”

Richard looked at his desk and saw an envelope. He opened it and found, not a note, but his copy of her leave paper. Signed by the Commissioner, no less. For a moment, he had a horrified thought she might have told Patterson everything. But no, she wouldn’t do that. Would she? A post-it stuck on the paper had a brief note: “Gone for a week. Emergency contact ONLY.”

He looked up to see two expectant faces. He shrugged.

“She just said she’s going away for a week. I don’t know where she is.” _And that’s the way she wants it._


	7. Relaxation and Stress

As soon as Camille learned that Richard would be returning to the station, she organized her escape. She booked a room at a resort on a small island, and took the evening ferry to Guadeloupe. After a night in a small hotel there, she took the boat out to Belle Isle.

The resort was the perfect place to restore her equilibrium. There was a lively beach bar near the main building, but there were also quiet beaches, where she could relax in the shade of a palm tree and read. She had picked up a few detective novels in Guadeloupe. She didn’t want anything too “heavy,” and she most certainly did not want to read a romance novel. The books were in French, which she hoped would help purge that damned Englishman from her mind.

Her days were pure escapism. The resort’s spa had a lovely thalassotherapy pool, a saltwater pool with massaging water jets. The first set of jets were at ankle level, and the subsequent sets worked their way upward, until they were at shoulder level. She started each day with a run on the beach, then a session in front of the massage jets. Then breakfast, then reading, then snorkeling or a swim or maybe a massage, then more reading. 

Nights were for fun. The beach bar had a loud band and there was always someone to dance with. She almost never bought a drink for herself, but never accepted more than one drink from an admirer, and never drank so much that she wasn’t in control of her situation. She was not there to pick someone up. Just to have some fun, relax, laugh, dance. All the things a certain someone would not do in a million years. And maybe, if she was lucky, the band would be loud enough to drown out his voice in her head.

-o-o-o-o-

One morning, as she took her pill, she thought that something was off. Shouldn’t she have reached the end of the sequence before now? Then she remembered that the day after Richard had been shot, she was upset and in such a hurry to get to the hospital, that she might have forgotten a pill. And the morning after their argument, she was so angry, she wasn’t capable of remembering ANYTHING. So how many could she forget without risk? And if there was a risk, she thought the timing couldn’t have been worse—right before and after they’d had sex. 

All of the relaxation produced by swims and walks and thalassotherapy was gone in an instant. Her mind was racing, thinking of the possible consequences. She thought of how much she’d been drinking. She knew she shouldn’t if she was pregnant. But maybe she wasn’t. Was she even late yet? She counted back. Oh, God, she was late. She called her doctor and left a message. It was the weekend, so she might not get a call back until Monday. 

While she waited to talk to her doctor, she tried to think of what she might do. She knew she wouldn’t get rid of it. Could she claim she’d had a brief affair while on vacation? Right, that was definitely a possibility. Having a plan calmed her. That lasted about a minute, and then it struck her that the baby might look like Richard. What then? Everyone would know. _He_ would know. No, she could never tell him. He’d marry her out of some archaic sense of decency, but she knew he didn’t love her. 

While all of this was going on, Richard kept leaving messages and sending emails, which only added to her stress. She had been keeping her mobile off, except when she called Catherine. But now she had to leave it on, hoping her doctor would call her back quickly. Thank God for caller ID.

She spent Sunday night in her room, not wanting to go to the beach bar knowing she shouldn’t drink. Perhaps her virtue was being rewarded, but she was relieved to get a call from her doctor, reassuring her that she was not likely to be pregnant, but that she should consider alternate protection until she’d been through another cycle of pills, just in case. 

Sure enough, after two drinkless days, Camille knew that she wasn’t pregnant. Ironically, she realized that she almost wished she were. Because she was done with relationships. As angry as she was with Richard, she couldn’t believe that she’d ever want anyone else. Her mother would have to learn to live without grandchildren. At least now she didn’t have to worry about having a drink. But the noisy bar was no longer appealing.

-o-o-o-o-

Meanwhile, Richard was struggling to keep himself calm, not let anyone know there was a problem. He called or texted Camille every chance he got. She wasn’t answering her phone, and he didn’t know if she even bothered to check messages. In desperation, he went to see Catherine, on the chance that she could help. He was terrified that Camille had told her mother what had happened. The fact that Catherine had not yet shown up intent on killing him gave him hope that Camille hadn’t said anything. To his great relief, Catherine didn’t know that anything specific was wrong, just that Camille needed some time away. 

“Seeing someone almost get killed is very upsetting. You think she’s strong, but she works hard at it. Sometimes she just needs to recharge.”

“But she won’t answer my calls or messages.”

“Did you do something to upset her?”

“Well…”

Catherine sighed, “What did you do?”

“We had an argument.”

Catherine rolled her eyes, “You always argue.”

“This was worse than usual. I said some stupid things.”

Catherine shook her head, “You always do that, too.”

“Beyond my usual level of stupidity. I don’t know what she’s thinking and I need to talk to her. Please ask her to call me.”

“She seems to be keeping her phone off. But the next time she calls me, I’ll tell her you asked.”

-o-o-o-o-

That night, Richard sat on his veranda with his phone, sending texts. “We need to talk. Please call me.” alternated with “I’m sorry.”

He finally got a message “LEAVE ME ALONE”

Knowing that they all kept “location” turned on, Richard used the text to find out where she was. It was a small island, part of the Guadeloupe group. He could get there tomorrow! He did a search and found four resorts. One by one, he called them, asking to leave a message for a guest called Camille Bordey. On the third try, the clerk agreed to take a message. Richard hadn’t thought that far ahead, and had no message in mind. He said the first thing that came to him. “Tell her that tomorrow’s parasailing trip is cancelled.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don’t know if he could trace her location like that, but I needed him to find her without anyone telling him.


	8. Confrontation

Richard took the early ferry to Guadeloupe, then the smaller boat to the resort island, then a taxi to the beach spa. He looked around and guessed where she would be. Sure enough, there she was, sitting on a remote part of the beach. She appeared to be reading. Sitting in the sand next to her was what looked like one of those ghastly tourist drinks, full of rum and fruit with a little umbrella on top. It was before noon, early in the day for drinking. 

He walked over to her, and the sight of his shadow made her look up. He gestured to the drink and said, “Bit early in the day, isn’t it?” Bugger! And he’d just said ANOTHER stupid thing.

She scowled at him and said, “I’m not pregnant, so it doesn’t matter. I’m not damaging your kid, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

Richard went from flushed with the heat to ashen in one second. He dropped onto the sand and said, “Oh, God, did you think you might be? I mean, oh God, we didn’t… that is, we weren’t careful, but if you are…”

“Relax Richard, I’m on the pill. And I am currently in no doubt that I am not pregnant.”

He took a moment to process this comment. “Oh, um, right.”

Camille snapped the book shut and turned to look at Richard. “Did I or did I not tell you to leave me alone?”

“We need to talk.”

“I think we said all we had to say the other night.”

“I said way too much the other night.”

“You think so?”

“Camille, please. That night was some of the best moments of my life followed by the worst moments of my life. I’ve made a mess of things and I don’t know how to set it right. I can’t bear to go back to the way it was at first, with you hating me. And it’s clear that you do, more than ever. We can’t work together this way. Saint Marie is your home so I’ll leave. 

“That’s what you’ve always wanted anyway,” she said sulkily. “Can you get a transfer?”

“I don’t know; I haven’t asked yet. I wanted to see you first, in case there was a chance…” He shrugged, “Stupid, really; I knew there wasn’t. I just needed to see you.”

“The Commissioner will block your transfer.”

“He can’t block me quitting.”

“You’d quit? But you love what you do.”

_Not as much as I love you._ But it was too late to say that. So he shrugged and said “There are lots of police forces in England. I’ll find another job somewhere.”

“But it wouldn’t be the Met.” 

“No, but that’s the price of having been an idiot. A small price compared to everything else I’ll lose.” 

“Everything else?” Camille didn’t understand this comment. Being a policeman, working for the Met, that was Richard’s whole life. Nothing could compare with giving that up. 

Richard didn’t answer; he just stared at the ocean. Camille studied his face. She’d seen that expression before. Then she remembered. That day on the station porch, when Anderson had berated Richard, saying he had no friends, nobody to love. Richard had tried so hard to hide how much that hurt. But she knew him well enough to recognize the furrowed brow, the firm set of the mouth. He was hanging on by a thread, trying hard to stop unhappiness from overwhelming him. Maybe she had been too hard on him, too wrapped up in her own turmoil to realize that he was upset, too.

“Richard?”

He shook his head. “It’s no use. When I get back to Saint Marie I’ll get in touch with the Met and see what I can do. I’ll have to work out my notice on Saint Marie, but I suppose we can tough it out for a few weeks.”

They sat in silence for a few minutes. Richard stood up and said, “If I don’t get going, I’ll miss the boat back to Guadeloupe. I’m sorry I disturbed your holiday. I hope you enjoy the rest of it. Look on the bright side. Maybe we’ll all get lucky and the next guy who takes a shot at me will get it right.”

“Richard!” Camille was shocked. He turned and walked away.

“RICHARD!” She scrambled to her feet and ran after him. 

“God dammit, Richard!” She caught up to him and grabbed his arm. “Don’t say things like that! That’s a horrible thing to say, especially when it could have happened! When I heard the shot and saw you fall, I thought—and I was so scared! I tried to run out to you, but Dwayne held me back and then the shooter ran away so he let me go, and I couldn’t run to you fast enough, and you were unconscious, and I think the boys had to jump over me to get down the stairs, but I didn’t even notice. All I knew was you had a pulse, and as long as I could feel that, I believed you’d be okay. And I prayed harder than I’ve ever prayed in my life, and the medics had to pry my hands off you because I was so afraid that if I stopped feeling your pulse I’d never… _sniff_ … I’d never… see you smile again, or smirk, or furrow your brow at the white board, _sniff,_ or hear you insult voodoo, or complain about the heat…”

Camille finally paused for breath. Richard, whose brain was about two sentences behind, just stared at her. 

Calmer now, she continued, “I don’t believe the things that people do after a near-death experience are necessarily stupid. I think people realize how nearly it all was over and they do things that they’ve always wanted to do but were too afraid to do. And, yes, maybe sometimes those things are foolish, but they aren’t acts of random stupidity. They come from a suppressed wish or desire. It’s a sort of celebration of being alive. And maybe, as the person who was not concussed, I should have stopped us. But I’d nearly lost you, and if you wanted to celebrate being alive by making love, then I wanted to celebrate with you. The only thing I regret is that it turned out that you didn’t want that after all. Or me. It wasn’t making love, it was just sex.”

“I’m so sorry, Camille. I didn’t—” Before Richard could answer, a horn sounded in the distance. He looked in the direction of the sound and saw the boat pulling out of the harbor.

“Damn, I missed the boat. Do you know when the next one goes?”

“Tomorrow morning.”

“Oh, brilliant, there’s another thing I’ve screwed up.” He took out his mobile and then drew a blank. “What’s the name of this place?”

“La Belle Plage. Why?”

“I’ll have to get a room for the night.” He started tapping at the screen. _please, please, please_ he willed the website to save him. He found the website and discovered that he could book a room.

“Hold this,” he said, handing his mobile to Camille. He took out his wallet and pulled out a credit card. 

Camille glanced at the screen. “Richard!”

“Shh, just let me do it before the website expires or something.” He entered his credit card number and touched _confirm._ “Well, at least that’s sorted.”

“Do you know what you booked?”

“A tent room, whatever that is. It’s all they had.”

“It isn’t a tent _room,_ it’s a tent. It’s like a canvas version of your beach shack.”

“That’s a bloody lot of money for camping!”

“It isn’t camping. It’s a combination of rustic and posh. Omigod, they’re gorgeous! This place is famous for them.”

“Do you have a tent?”

“No, I have a room in the main building. They leave a reprint of an article about the tents from a travel magazine in all the rooms, hoping guests will upgrade.” Camille glanced at her watch. “I have a massage booked in the spa in a half hour. Come on, I’ll walk you back to the main building so you can check in.”

Richard checked in, and the woman behind the desk explained the tent’s amenities. 

“The rate includes dinner and breakfast for two, either in our restaurant or by room service. Would you and the lady like to pre-order your dinner now? It will save time and ensure your meal is delivered on time.”

“Oh, um, we …” he turned to look at Camille. 

“Maybe we should,” said Camille, reaching for the menu. She walked Richard over to a sofa. Behind the menu she said softly, “You’ve paid for the dinner, so we may as well eat it. And it’s quiet and private. You’re right, we need to talk. Maybe we can figure out a way to work together. Or, if not, at least get some sort of closure. We can’t leave things as they are.”

So they ordered dinner. Camille went for her massage while Richard hiked out to his tent.


	9. Conversation

The massage was relaxing, but as soon as Camille left the spa, her mind started churning again. This morning had been a shock. She hadn’t wanted to see Richard. She was still too hurt. She’d been angry that he had managed to track her down. But when he talked, he’d sounded so defeated that her anger dulled. And he was willing to quit, throw away his career—but why? To keep her from being unhappy? He said it was a small price to pay compared to “everything else” he would lose. What “else” was there? 

Camille suddenly felt the panic she’d experienced when she thought he might die. If Richard left Saint Marie, she’d never see him again. Someone else would be sent in his place. Someone else would stand in front of his whiteboard, sit at his desk, live in his house. A year ago that thought would have made her happy. Now it was terrifying. 

-o-o-o-o-

Richard thought Camille’s description was perfect. The tent was both rustic and posh. Set on a platform on the hillside, it made Richard feel like he was in a treehouse. But not a kid’s treehouse. This one was furnished with upscale copies of the sort of folding furniture an expedition would carry. The bed was completely posh. It was huge, piled high with pillows, and festooned with mosquito netting. Richard was pleased to see that the bathroom, while small, was not at all rustic. Robes hung on the back of the door, and a shelf held a pile of large, thick towels. He walked out to the veranda and looked around. He knew there were other tents nearby, but they were sheltered from one another by dense vegetation. He felt as if he were the only person on the island. He looked at the Jacuzzi in the corner. What the hell, he thought.

Intending only a one-day trip, Richard had not packed any extra clothing, and certainly not swimming trunks. As he undressed, he wondered if his willingness to sit in the outdoor tub naked was another aspect of his post-concussion symptoms. He’d found an interesting study that said some victims of concussion experienced a loss of self-control, especially regarding sex. It certainly explained his enthusiasm that night, and also his total lack of concern for birth control. In his few other intimate relationships, condoms had been a requisite, wanted by both parties. He was appalled that he had shown so little concern for Camille that he hadn’t even thought about protection.

Richard turned on the bubbles and slipped into the tub. He was pleased that it was not boiling hot, just warm enough to be relaxing. He tried to think how to explain to Camille why he’d behaved as he had—both during sex (uninhibited) and after (incredibly stupid). He’d sent her the link to the study he’d read online. But he was fairly certain she had deleted his many emails without reading them. She’d been angry when he showed up without warning. But at least she’d agreed to talk to him, even though he suspected it was only to see the tent. 

He was half asleep when he heard footsteps on the veranda stairs. He looked up abruptly and saw a waiter approaching.

“Good afternoon, sir. Sorry to disturb you. I’m here to set up for your dinner.”

“Oh, is it that late already?”

“No sir. I’m just doing table setups. Would you prefer to eat inside or out here?”

Richard looked through the veranda door, and all he could see from his viewpoint was the large bed. Not wishing to make the evening any more awkward than he expected, he said, “Out here on the veranda, please.”

“Very good, sir.” 

Richard watched as the waiter wiped off the table, expertly flicked out a tablecloth, and retrieved china and silverware from a carryall. Richard waited to see if there would be a little vase with a rosebud in it. He had to smile when he realized that flowering vines clambered up the sides of the veranda. The table hardly needed a rose.

“Shall I put these in your refrigerator, sir?” The waiter held up a bottle and a small tray.

“Did I order that?”

“It’s a bottle of champagne and some cold canapés. Complimentary with the tent package. Or would you like me to open the bottle now?”

“No, I’ll open it later. Thank you.”

The waiter departed and Richard leaned back again. He looked at his hand. His skin was getting wrinkly from being in the water. He really should get up. But this was the most relaxed he’d felt in days. So he allowed himself more time in the water, while he tried to think of a way to explain things to Camille. 

-o-o-o-o-

Camille looked at her reflection. She hadn’t packed a lot of clothing for this trip. Just shorts and bikinis for the beach, and a short dress for nights in the bar. Fortunately, she was able to make a tank top and pareo look like a dress. Tied as a longish skirt, it didn’t look too revealing. She wanted to look pretty, but not like she was trying to seduce or entice him. She felt that she had one chance to get this right, buy time to work things out.

She glanced at the clock. It was still a bit early. But she could take her time, stroll through the gardens on the way to the tent. And if she was early, it wouldn’t be as if she’d be disturbing him. She wondered how he had spent his time. Was there anything in the hotel’s shop that he would want to read? She could imagine him sitting in the tent, reading a newspaper and calling room service for tea. 

Camille was very surprised when she arrived at the tent. She looked up to the veranda, and—could it be? Richard was in the Jacuzzi? Halfway up the steps, she froze as a thought struck her. Richard had not intended to stay, so he hadn’t packed anything. So… what was he wearing? He wouldn’t get his only pair of underpants wet. Which meant he had done some shopping… or…? 

Before _that_ night, she would have found this amusing. She used to enjoy teasing him. But what was she supposed to do now? She tiptoed down to the bottom step and took a deep breath. _You can do this, Camille. Just don’t think about the fact that he’s probably naked._

“Hello? Richard?” She climbed the steps slowly. As she neared the top step, she turned around to look at the view. “It’s beautiful up here, like a treehouse.”

“That was my first thought, too.” As he answered her, Richard looked around for a towel. She was facing away from him, and if he was quick… Oh, God, the towel was out of reach. What was he supposed to do now?

If she stood with her back to him any longer, Camille would look like an idiot. She hadn’t heard any splashy noises, so the only thing she could do was turn around and look at him.

“Oh, how nice, a Jacuzzi.” Camille kept the comment light, but her brain was imagining what it would be like if she could—no, that was not going to happen.

“Oh, um, yeah. I stayed in longer than I intended. It’s surprising how relaxing it is.” Richard tried to sound nonchalant. Obviously, he couldn’t invite her to join him. If things had worked out differently…but they hadn’t.

“I know what you mean. The spa has a thalassotherapy pool, a giant version of this with salt water. There’s one set of jets that hits me right between the shoulder blades. I swear I could stand there all day.” 

“Sounds nice,” Richard answered distractedly. He had to get out of the tub before thoughts of Camille in it with him took over his body.

As Camille turned to admire the beautifully set table, she saw a towel on one of the chairs. So _that_ was why he was still in the tub. Sixteen different smart remarks flashed through her brain, not one of them something she could say now, given what had happened. She picked up the towel.

“Do you need this?” she asked, holding it out. Was he blushing, or just flushed from the warm water?

“Thanks.”

Camille turned and walked to the other end of the veranda. She could hear the sounds of water slopping over the side of the tub as he got out. 

“Sorry, I’ll just, um, be a minute.” He scurried into the tent. In the bathroom, he exchanged the towel for a robe. He retrieved the champagne from the fridge and returned to the veranda.

“Would you like a drink while I change? I just need to rinse off and get dressed.” Richard peeled off the foil and began to undo the wire cage when Camille held out her hand.

“I can do it. I grew up in a bar, remember. You go ahead and change.”

Richard handed the bottle to her and said, “I’m sorry. I should have got dressed earlier.”

“Richard, it’s all right. I mean, considering everything, I’m not shocked.”

“Yeah, well, I’ll just, um…” He took a deep breath and added, “Sorry this is so awkward.”

Camille watched him go into the tent. Awkward didn’t begin to describe the situation. As angry as she had been, she now felt sorry for Richard. Control was so important to him. Don’t let go, don’t show emotion, don’t give in to feelings. He had completely lost control with her, and it terrified him. 

She leaned on the veranda railing and sipped her champagne. She thought again about the things Anderson had said. No friends, no girlfriend. That hadn’t started with Anderson; he’d just seized on it as something to torture Richard with. No, Richard had been hurt before that. The need to keep feelings in check probably began with boarding school. But there was more to it than that, probably more than he’d ever tell her. She was sure she wasn’t his first. He was too knowledgeable for her to think that. So who was she, the woman—women?—who had hurt him so badly?

She turned when she heard his footsteps. He set the plate of canapés on the table and began to tie his tie. 

“No,” she said firmly, taking the tie in her hands and removing it. He swatted at her hands and she said, “You don’t need a tie and jacket. Oh, for pity’s sake, Richard, I’m not trying to undress you. If I’d wanted you naked, I’d have jumped in the tub with you.”

“Camille!” Richard turned scarlet.

“Don’t sound so shocked. We’ve been naked together before. It happened, we can’t change that. Here,” she poured a glass of champagne for him and topped up her own. “Sit down, have a drink. I’ll sit way over here, I won’t touch you. But we have got to talk about this. Yes, for everyone else, we’ve got to pretend nothing happened. But not for just us. We need to deal with this and decide how to move on from it.”

Richard sighed, “You were right about suppressed wishes and desires. I found an article about a study done on post-concussion patients. In some people, concussion was found to affect the ability to control desires, especially sexual.”

“So a concussion affects sex drive?”

“In some cases. More commonly, it reduces sex drive. That’s been well documented. This study found that, in others, it doesn’t increase the drive, it decreases the control. It isn’t quite the same thing, although the outcome is similar. In the cases of decreased control, the study also found a pattern of careless behavior, like not being careful about sex and protection. I’m sorry I lost control like that.”

“Was it really such a bad thing? I wasn’t concussed and I didn’t have any control, either.”

“But you’re French.”

“What? Are you saying the French are all sex-mad?”

“Aren’t you?”

“I do not sleep around, Richard.”

“But you’re on the pill.”

“For medical reasons. It keeps me regular, which without it I’m not. And even so, I was late—”

“WHAT? You said you weren’t—”

“Just a few days. Enough to make frighten me. I missed a pill the morning after we, um, you know, and then there was the stress of everything that followed. It doesn’t take much to mess up my hormones. So my recklessness or stupidity or whatever you want to call it gave me a few scary days.”

“Camille, you know that if you were, of course I’d—”

“Don’t say it. I know you’d do the honorable thing. But that’s no basis for a life together. The idea that I might be pregnant from a one-night stand got my imagination going. I thought up all kinds of scenarios. At first I thought I could say it happened here, while I was on holiday. But then I thought what if the child looked enough like you that everyone would know. I started thinking about where I could go to start over where nobody would know either of us.”

“Wait a minute, Camille! You wouldn’t have TOLD me?”

“Considering how you reacted that night, no. If you didn’t want me, you certainly wouldn’t want my child.”

“It would have been mine, too.”

“Only in terms of genetics. Being a parent is so much more than conception.” Camille’s expression was defiant. “Maman raised me alone. I figured I could do it, too.”

The thought that she would have hidden the existence of a child, even if it was only theoretical, angered Richard. “What is this, some sort of Amazon warrior princess fantasy? Who needs men, women can rule the world on our own?”

“Well, men have been in charge for a long time and it hasn’t done the human race a whole lot of good!” Camille took a deep breath and calmed herself. She continued in a softer tone, “When my father left, I was heartbroken. But I came to see that having only one parent, who I _knew_ loved me, was better than having two if one of them didn’t want to be there.”

Richard’s anger evaporated as quickly as it had appeared. He berated himself for not realizing that Camille’s feelings of being abandoned by her father would make her more sensitive to rejection. He tried to think of a way to explain that he hadn’t rejected _her,_ but the situation they were in. She continued to speak, and he tried to catch up with what she was saying.

“… so it was a pretty tough couple of days. I really wanted a drink, but I didn’t dare just in case. And I felt guilty because I had been drinking in the days before then, and that added another level of stress. So this morning, when you saw me with a drink, yes, I was drinking. Because it’s okay to now. And oddly enough…”

When she didn’t continue, Richard prompted her, “Oddly enough?”

“Oddly enough, I was a little disappointed. Despite all my melodramatic scenarios, I hadn’t ruined my life and I can go back to Saint Marie. But now it turns out that I have ruined, well, not my whole life. But part of it.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I’m not sure I do, either. But when I thought you might die, it changed how I look at things. I realized how important you are, how special…how special it is to have a team like ours. If you want to go back to London and they give you a transfer, well, it’s what you’ve always wanted. But if you can’t get a transfer, please don’t quit. Promise me you’ll talk to me about it. Don’t throw away your whole career because of something that wasn’t even your fault.”

Richard thought back to the stumbling way he’d tried to comfort Camille when Aimee was killed. _Special_ and _important_ were words he’d used then. So had she started to care for him? And he’d ruined it completely. He really could be an ass sometimes.

“Richard?”

“Hmm?”

“Please promise me you won’t quit. Maybe we can find a way to work together. And if it’s too uncomfortable, then I should be the one to quit.”

“But Saint Marie is your home.”

“The island is my home, not the police station. I don’t need to be a detective. I could get a security job in a hotel or resort. I have a lot of options, and I don’t mind giving up the police force. It’s more important to you.”

“You shouldn’t have to do that.”

“I’m responsible for what happened. I was the one with all my faculties intact. Your self-control was impaired and I didn’t do enough to compensate. I chose to sleep on the bed, when I should have stayed in the chair. I could have stopped us, but I didn’t. I wasn’t trying to seduce you, Richard. I swear I wasn’t. I’m sorry you regret what happened that night, but I can’t change the past.”

“I’m sorry, too. I’m not good at self-censorship to begin with, and when I panicked, I said things I shouldn’t have. I know I hurt you, and I regret that most of all.”

Their dinner was delivered, and the conversation ended. They ate in silence, speaking only to comment on the meal. Richard declined after-dinner coffee. Camille poured some for herself. She sighed and leaned her head back.

“It is so peaceful here. I understand why these tents are so popular.”

“I should have suggested you bring some things with you so that you could stay here tonight.”

Camille’s head snapped up. “What?”

“No! No, I don’t mean with me. We could exchange rooms for tonight. I don’t mind where I sleep. Booking a room was only a way to avoid sleeping on the beach like a homeless person. It’s just a pillow to lay my head on. You could enjoy the tent’s atmosphere, the hot tub, the peace and quiet.

“Oh. Tempting, but no. My room is a mess.” Camille thought of the discarded clothing on the bed. She’d put a ridiculous amount of thought into what she had worn this evening. “Anyway, it’s probably against some rule, and the last thing we need is an arrest record for the Honoré Chief of Police. However long you may hold that title.”

Camille looked at Richard, who stared out into the night. He seemed to have as much to think about as she did. So she stood and said, “I should go. If I don’t see you in the morning, have a safe trip back to Saint Marie.”

“Thanks. Good night.”

“See you some time next week,” Camille tried to sound casual.

“Yes. Right. Next week.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The study Richard describes is real. I found it while researching concussion. There was also a study on compulsive shopping after a concussion, another example of decreased impulse control.


	10. Normal, or What Passes for It

Both Dwayne and Fidel had noticed that their boss was unusually cranky after his return to work. Fidel thought it was part of the after-effects of the concussion. Dwayne thought it was irritation that Camille was going to be away for a week, leaving them short-handed. On Monday morning, the crankiness seemed to be replaced by moodiness. If it were anyone else, Dwayne might have asked if he’d had a rough weekend. But the Chief spent his weekends reading, not partying. 

A case kept them busy for the next few days. It was an attempted homicide, and if the victim regained consciousness, the case would be easy. Until then, they had to investigate without a witness. As he interviewed the family of the victim, Richard missed Camille’s help. She tended to have a different insight into a crime, and while it could be annoying, it often did lead him to look at clues in a new way. 

On his way to an interview, he noticed how quiet it was in the Defender by himself. Usually, Camille drove (wildly) and talked (constantly). He had complained about both of these behaviours from time to time, and he was surprised that he now missed them. Even the bumps from hitting a pothole felt different when he drove. They’d agreed to be professional, no personal interactions at work. Would that extend to rides in the car? There was something about being enclosed in a car with someone that got the damnedest conversations started. So would they be silent, or take Henry Higgins’ advice, and talk only of the weather and everyone’s health?

-o-o-o-o-

As Camille climbed the steps to the station, she repeated to herself, _I’m a professional. I can do this._ She had sent Richard a text the previous evening to let him know she’d be back to work. And now, here she was, heading for her desk, which would give her a direct line of sight to a man who had made her life incredibly complicated. A week away from Honoré and she still didn’t know what she wanted. No, that wasn’t true. She knew what she _wanted,_ she just didn’t know how to cope with not having life the way she wanted it. 

She took a deep breath and walked into the station.

“Good morning,” she said in what she hoped was a cheerful tone.

“Hey, Camille, how was your holiday?” Dwayne asked.

“Good. Lots of beach time, massages, swimming, reading. And sleeping.”

“What, no night life?”

“Not a lot. The food was great, though. One dinner in particular was really special.” Camille glanced at Richard as she sat down. He looked up at her, and she thought she saw a flicker of something in his expression, but it was gone before she was sure.

“Good morning, Camille,” he said. “Good to have you back. I’m glad you had a nice holiday. I’m afraid I’m going to need you to jump right in. The victim in our case just regained consciousness, and the doctor will let me know when we can talk to her. It’s a woman, so it would be good if you could talk to her.”

“Of course. What have we got?”

“Not a lot. Without her, there’s no witness. But we do have a timeline, and…” Richard took Camille through the case so far, and when the hospital called to tell them they could interview the victim, she had a pretty good sense of what had happened.

At the hospital, the doctor said they could have five minutes. They entered the room, and were shocked at the woman's condition. Heavily bruised and bandaged, she looked frightened, even after Richard identified himself and then Camille as police officers. Not wishing to add to the woman's stress, Richard excused himself and told Camille he’d wait in the hallway. Two minutes later, his phone buzzed. He looked at the text from Camille. They had a name! He called the station.

_“Honoré Police Station, Sergeant Best speaking.”_

“Fidel, did you get Camille’s text?”

_“Yes, Sir. Michael Fyffe.”_

“Good. See what you can get on him and track him down.”

_“We’re on it, Sir.”_

“Camille is in with the victim now. We’ll call you if there’s anything more you need to know.”

Camille emerged from the room, and found Richard tapping at his phone. 

“Did you get the name I texted?” she asked?

“Yes. Dwayne and Fidel are trying to find him. What else did she tell you?”

“She did know him. They had been lovers for a few months, and then things went bad. It seems he has a bad temper, and one night they had an argument and he hit her.”

“But she didn’t report it.”

“No. You know how it is. They’re either afraid of what he’ll do to get even or they hope he won’t do it again. And that was the first time, so she thought she would give him a second chance.”

“Oh, let me guess,” said Richard in a disgusted tone of voice. “He promised he’d never do it again.”

“Right. But sometimes a second chance does work out.” Camille paused for a second, wondering if there was a second chance in their future. She quickly shook off those thoughts and continued, “He nearly killed her, but I think a part of her still loves him. That hurts as much as the bruises. Anyhow, they made up after the first big fight, stayed together a while, then broke up after another fight. She thought it was over. She didn’t report anything because she didn’t want him to have an arrest record.”

“Too late for that, he already had one. What happened when he attacked her?”

“He came back, all apologetic, assuming he could get right back into her bed. She said she needed to think about it, and he got angry. She looks like he tried to kill her, but she says he was just angry, and didn’t intend to kill her.”

“It’s attempted homicide until we’re sure it isn’t. Let’s go back to the station.”

The drive to the hospital had been filled with a discussion of the case, but they didn’t have much to say on the way back to the station. Rather than sit in silence, Richard called Fidel to find out what he and Dwayne had learned about the suspect.

Back at the station, Camille repeated what she had learned from the victim. 

“That’s so sad,” said Fidel. “She gave him a second chance, and he hurt her again.”

Camille glanced at Richard, who looked away from her quickly. Again, she wondered if they could ever have a second chance, and if they did, would they just repeat their mistakes.

Dwayne and Fidel left to try to track down Fyffe. Richard focused on his computer, never looking up at Camille. She made some phone calls to Fyffe’s known associates, hoping to get some information that would help Dwayne and Fidel. She took a break for coffee, and asked Richard if he wanted any. He didn’t respond.

“Sir?”

“Hmm?”

“Coffee. Would you like some?” She held up the pot.

“No thanks.”

“Tea?”

“No, nothing, thank you.”

She took her mug of coffee out to the porch. They were so coldly polite, like two strangers. She’d just called him “Sir.” She only addressed him as “Sir” or “Inspector” when they were out on an investigation. For months now, at any other time, even at the station, she’d been calling him “Richard.” This was too bizarre. They’d started as strangers, then awkward colleagues, then partners and friends. And then for one insane night, they’d been… what? She couldn’t say “lovers,” because he had never loved her. But like the woman she’d interviewed this morning, if he asked she’d probably give him another chance. Of course, she wouldn’t be risking a beating with Richard. Just heartbreak. 

It had been only one day, she told herself. It would get easier. They just had to find a level of professionalism that didn’t seem too stilted. It would just take a little time.

Richard leaned back in his desk chair and could see Camille standing outside. She was doing that frustrated thing of running her fingers through her hair. He remembered what she’d said about the victim this morning. _I think a part of her still loves him. That hurts as much as the bruises._ But NO part of Camille loved him. She couldn’t bear to be around him. After they’d talked at La Belle Plage, he thought they might be able to be friends. But this antiseptic coldness was intolerable. She’d just called him “Sir.” He couldn’t remember the last time she’d done that when they were alone. He sat up straight so that she wouldn’t be in his line of sight. He stared at the computer screen. Work was the only antidote he knew to being unhappy.

-o-o-o-o-

Two days later, they had Michael Fyffe in custody. At first he denied everything, but when confronted by the evidence, he said that it was just an argument that “got out of hand.” The victim was out of the hospital, Fyffe was being held without bail, and it was up to the lawyers to decide on the final charges. There was nothing more for the team to do on this one.

Closing a case always meant drinks at La Kaz. Richard declined, just as he used to do when he first arrived on Saint Marie. Camille could see that Fidel looked hurt, and Dwayne looked concerned. She sent them ahead and told them she’d follow in a few minutes. She stood in front of Richard’s desk. 

“Come with us.”

“No, I don’t think it’s, um, I still have some work to do.”

“No you don’t. We agreed to act as if nothing happened. And what you would have done two weeks ago is join us at La Kaz.”

“We agreed to be professional. That doesn’t involve socializing.”

“We’re being _too_ professional. We’ve been a team for more than a year. You’re avoiding having anything to do with us outside of work, like you did when you first got here. If you don’t want to be asked awkward questions, you can’t keep running away from me, because it makes you run away from everyone else, too.”

“Next case, I promise. But tonight I just want to go home.”

“Fine. Don’t work too late. Good night.”

Richard watched Camille walk out of the station. He opened a new window on his computer and found the site he wanted in his history folder. He scrolled through the list, clicked on one item, typed for about a minute, then swore and shut down the computer. As he left, he nearly tripped over the bin by his desk. He kicked it across the room, and stomped out.

-o-o-o-o-

A week later, the situation was no better. Camille was respectful and Richard was polite. That sounded good on the surface, but it was very different from the way the two detectives had been before Richard was shot. Dwayne hadn’t cracked a joke in days, and Fidel hadn’t said a word about Rosie. They were strictly professional at all times. 

One afternoon, Camille had gone to re-interview a witness, and Richard was finishing a report. Dwayne suggested he and Fidel patrol the market.

“Can we get you anything while we’re down there, Chief?” Dwayne asked.

“Hmm? No, I don’t need anything, thanks.”

As they walked down the steps, Fidel said, “Man, I can’t take much more of this.”

“I know!” Dwayne replied. “I feel like if I so much as smile, I’ll get reprimanded. It’s all very good to be professional, but we used to manage to be professional AND human.”

“I used to feel like we could say almost anything, you know? Make suggestions or ask questions. Now I’m afraid one of them will get angry.”

“Camille is like a coiled spring. Any second now she’s going to fly apart.”

“Maybe Catherine knows what’s wrong.”

“Couldn’t hurt to ask.”

Catherine looked up to see the two officers in the doorway. She smiled and said, “Hello! Slow day? Did you quit early?”

“We’re still on duty, patrolling the market,” said Dwayne. “But we thought while we were down here, we’d talk to you. What’s wrong with Camille? She and the Chief are barely speaking and, I’m telling you, Catherine, it’s hot as hell today, but I feel a chill when they’re both in the room.”

“I don’t know. They had an argument. She won’t talk about it.”

Dwayne shook his head, “It’s terrible. The Chief has been odd since the shooting. He was cranky when he was being forced to stay home. When he was allowed to come back to work, he was kind of moody, sad maybe. But other than that he was okay with us, like usual. Then when Camille came back, he was like his old self. I mean really old, like when he first got here.”

“I thought he was starting to unwind lately, be more a part of things here,” Fidel added. “But he didn’t come for drinks last week when we closed a case. He’s relaxed with us a bit when Camille isn’t around. But when she’s there, it’s like he’s, I don’t know. Stiff.”

“Yeah,” said Dwayne, “Like somebody starched his underpants. And she isn’t much better.”

“I wish I could help. She’s unhappy, but won’t tell me why. She said she needed to get away to recharge. You saw her the day Richard was shot. I think it scared her to the point that she told him how she feels.” Catherine stopped and blinked back tears, “And he doesn’t … or won’t … she’s my baby and I hate to see her like this!”

“Shh,” Dwayne gave her a hug. “I understand how you feel.”

“Could it be the other way round?” asked Fidel. “What if, after he was shot, he told her he loves her and she didn’t… no, that doesn’t make sense. I had to peel her off him so the EMT’s could get him on the stretcher. She was at his house, taking care of him. If he’d said something, she’d never have turned him down. We’re missing something here.”

“I don’t know what it is,” Catherine shook her head. I’ve asked and asked, but she tells me to leave it alone. I mentioned a nice man I talked to at the bar, and she nearly bit my head off. I don’t know what to do for her.”

“If I find the right moment, I’ll try,” said Dwayne. “I KNOW the Chief won’t talk to any of us, but maybe I can get Camille to tell me what’s wrong.”

-o-o-o-o-

A few days later, Richard went to Government House for a meeting at the Prosecutor’s office. Camille sat at her computer, exploring a website. Fidel looked at Dwayne and pointed to Camille. Dwayne nodded.

“I think I’ll go do a patrol,” said Fidel. “Anyone want anything from the market?”

“No thanks,” Camille replied.

“No, I’m good,” said Dwayne. He walked closer to Camille and looked at her monitor. Why on Earth was she looking at the Met’s website? He watched as she scrolled through a list of openings. He walked to her desk and looked down at her.

“What’s going on, Camille?” 

“What do you mean?” She closed the browser window.

“With you and the Chief. Something’s wrong.”

She shrugged.

“Come on, Camille. Why were you looking at job openings at the Met?”

“Just looking,” she said evasively.

“Why were you looking at DI jobs in England?”

“Because Ri—Inspector Poole is looking for a transfer and I wondered if there was a position open.”

“Do you know why?”

She shrugged again.

“Come on, Camille,” Dwayne sat on the edge of her desk and reached for her hands. “Tell Uncle Dwayne. I know something’s going on, you’re both acting strange. Fidel and I feel like we’re walking on eggshells.”

“I’m sorry you’ve been uncomfortable.”

“That isn’t the point, Camille. We’re worried about you. Both of you.”

“He doesn’t want to work with me anymore. I’m just…I’m trying… if we can be professionals, maybe we can manage. At least I thought so, but I know he’s going to leave.”

“There was a time you wanted that.”

Camille wouldn’t meet his eyes.

“Camille,” Dwayne drew out the l’s. “What do you want?”

She shook her head.

“What can we do to help?”

“Nothing. Please, Dwayne. Just leave it. And for God’s sake, don’t say anything to Richard.”

“All right. But I’m here if you need me.” He squeezed her hands and stood up. Before returning to his desk, he said softly, “For what it’s worth, I think he does love you.”

-o-o-o-o-

The situation improved a little over the next week. Camille tried to be more relaxed, less cold. She still didn’t tease Richard or flirt with him, but she did challenge him gently on a few points in their latest case. He listened to her comments and answered civilly, agreeing to one suggestion, disagreeing with another. 

Richard was at a loss. He could see that Camille was trying to make the situation better, but he didn’t know how to help. One afternoon, as they were looking though evidence, she addressed him as “Richard.” He looked up at her, but she looked away and whispered “sorry,” and the glimmer of hope he felt was extinguished.


	11. Not Again!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have faith, people. It's Tuesday, and I don't do angst on Tuesday. ;-)

Richard was late arriving at the station. He’d looked tired lately, and Camille wondered if he overslept. She saw him reach the top step when she heard a _BANG_ like a shotgun blast and saw him fall to the porch floor.

“Richard! Omigod, RICHARD!” she screamed as she raced out the door. She dropped to her knees and began to run her hands over his head and back, looking for the wound, all the while babbling, “Please don’t die, Richard.” 

He rolled over, slightly stunned, and her hands settled on his face. “Where were you hit?” she asked breathlessly.

“What?”

“It was just a backfire,” said Dwayne as he walked out onto the porch. “Old Mr. Jepson’s pickup truck.”

“Really?” Camille looked back and forth between Dwayne and Richard. Then she turned to the latter and said, “You’re all right?”

“Yes. I was startled and I stumbled.”

“Oh, thank God!” Camille collapsed against Richard sobbing uncontrollably. He wrapped his arms around her awkwardly, and managed to shift position to lean against a post.

“Shh,” he said, “It’s all right. Nobody’s hurt. Just a backfire.”

Dwayne watched as Richard tightened his hold on Camille and continued to make soothing noises. This was odd. He’d have expected something less nurturing from the Chief, more like “Pull yourself together, Detective!” There was more to this than Dwayne knew, and he had a feeling they didn’t want him to know. But maybe this was the break they’d been waiting for.

“Damn,” he said. “The truck has died and it’s blocking traffic. Come on, Fidel, we better get down there.”

Traffic was flowing just fine and the offending vehicle was long gone. Fidel looked confused, and Dwayne jerked his head toward the stairs, his version of Camille’s finger snap/point move.

“Thanks, Dwayne,” Richard said softly. He was facing away from the street and so focused on Camille that Dwayne could have said there were a dozen elephants in the street and he wouldn’t have bothered to look.

When Camille’s tears subsided, Richard managed to get them both to their feet. 

“Come inside.” He walked Camille into a cell and she sat down on the bed. He sat facing her and ran his hands up and down her arms, trying to soothe and warm her in case she was in shock.

“There, better now?”

She sniffled, nodded, and hiccupped.

“Good.” He slid his hands down to hers and held them gently.

“I thought _sniff_ you were shot again.” Camille managed to get out.

“No, it was just a backfire. Mind, it _was_ rather loud. It made me jump a bit, so I missed the top step.”

“You went down so fast, I was afraid… _sniff_ …”

“Just me being awkward and clumsy, that’s all. I have no intention of letting anyone shoot me.” Richard paused and added, “Not when there’s so much to live for.”

Camille looked at him, trying to decide if there was some sort of meaning hidden in what he said.

“You’ve had a fright,” Richard said gently. “Why don’t you lie down for a bit, until you feel better.”

“In a cell?” Camille wrinkled her nose.

“You’ve been in this cell before,” Richard gave her a half smile. “And there isn’t even a goat here now.”

Tears welled up as Camille remembered their terrible beginning. One tear slipped down her cheek. Richard reached up to wipe it away.

“Oh, my poor darling, you have had a bad morning, haven’t you?”

The floodgates opened again. 

“What?” he asked.

“You _sniff_ called me darling!”

Camille’s quicksilver mood changes had long been a mystery to Richard. Now she was crying and smiling at the same time. He decided to believe the smile and said, “Oh gosh, if that made you cry, what will you do when I tell you that I love you?”

The tears increased and the smile widened. Camille threw her arms around him and whispered in his ear, “I will love you right back!”

They kissed, and part of Richard’s brain said _you’re on a bed, you know_ and another part said _don’t be a pig!_ Camille felt his shoulders stiffen and she pulled back. 

“What?” she asked warily. “Oh, no, don’t take it back, please don’t take it back.”

“No! No, I am not going to take it back. But, um, we are sitting in the station, and, you know, anyone could walk in. The other night, I’d had a head injury. Now you’ve had a fright. I think if we want this to go somewhere beyond frantic panic-driven sex, we need to take a little time to be clear-headed.”

Camille nodded, and Richard continued, “Fidel and Dwayne will be back soon. I’m going to my desk. You have a lie-down until you feel better. We can talk about us later. If we’re to make this work, we have to be able to separate our work time and personal time.”

“I know.”

“Good.” Richard kissed her forehead and stood up. He smiled down at her and said, “At the risk of making you cry again, I love you.”

“I love you, too.” Camille watched him walk to the door of the cell and then called him back. “Richard?”

“Yes?” 

“What about your transfer?”

“Ah, that. I filled out the form online when I got back from La Belle Plage. Pages and pages it was. I got it all done, and I couldn’t make myself click the _submit_ button. I read the application over several times and then I closed the window.”

“You lost all that work?”

Richard smiled, “Better than losing you.”

-o-o-o-o-

Dwayne and Fidel walked into the station and looked around.

“Where’s Camille?” Fidel asked.

“Taking a nap.”

“No I’m not.” Camille stood in the doorway to the cells.

“Why don’t you go home and rest? It’s quiet here. I’ll call you if something happens.”

“Thanks, Richard, but I’m okay.”

“You sure, Camille?” asked Dwayne. “You look like you’ve been through hell.”

“I have, in a way,” she said softly. She smiled and added, “But it’s all better now. I’m fine.”

“Take a break, maybe go talk to your mother,” said Dwayne. “She’s been worried about you.”

“That sounds like a good idea,” said Richard. “Then take the rest of the day off.”

“All right. See you later.”

Dwayne watched Camille walk out of the station. Fidel watched Richard watch Camille. 

“What happened with Camille?” asked Fidel.

“She was startled by the noise.” Richard smiled that half-smile and tried to make a joke of it. “When it sinks in that I’m still alive and she isn’t going to get my job, she’s going to be annoyed.”

“Chief, you know she’d rather have you than your—” Dwayne broke off and turned his attention to his computer. “Um, I’ll just finish that report.”

-o-o-o-o-

La Kaz was quiet, so Camille and Catherine sat at the back of the restaurant to talk.

“What’s happened?”

“Oh, Maman, he loves me!”

“Of course he does.”

“How did you know?”

Catherine didn’t want to say that Dwayne and Fidel had described the scene on the porch this morning, so she covered with, “I said a prayer to Erzulie for you. It didn’t take much. I’ve seen how he looks at you when he thinks nobody’s looking. And while you were away, he was desperate to hear from you. I had a feeling about you, and when he was shot, I was sure you love him. But why did you need to get away from him?”

“We argued.”

“Ma chère, you do that a lot.”

“No, not like that. This was…” Camille tried to figure out how much to tell her mother. She felt her face grow hot as she remembered that night. “He kissed me and then he pulled back and said he shouldn’t have and I shouldn’t have let him. I’d wanted him for so long and then he didn’t want me, and it was all because of the concussion. I couldn’t bear to see him, so I had to get away.”

“My poor girl.” It all seemed too dramatic to be about only a _kiss,_ but Catherine decided not to probe any further. 

“It’s the worst thing in the world to love someone who doesn’t love you back.”

“But you said he does.”

“Yes, but I didn’t know that then. And even when I was mad as hell at him, I still was in love with him.” Camille swiped at a tear.

“Don’t cry. You don’t want your eyes to be all puffy when you see him tonight.”

“We didn’t make any plans.”

“Go see him, Camille. I don’t think you’ve told me everything, and that’s all right. It’s between the two of you. So talk out what’s left to talk about, and tell him you love him.”

-o-o-o-o-

Camille turned off the Defender and took a deep breath. She left the tote bag containing the next day’s work clothes in the car. She wanted to be prepared to stay, but also prepared to make a graceful exit. Getting dressed this evening had been more difficult than it had been that night at La Belle Plage. Once again, she wanted to look pretty, but not too overtly sexy. The dress she chose was one she hadn’t worn before. From the front it looked like an ordinary sundress. But the back was very low cut and the halter top just tied with a bow at her neck. Unless she turned her back to him, he wouldn’t know how easy it would be to get her out of the dress.

She could see a light on the veranda. She smiled at the thought that Richard was probably sitting there reading. But when she stepped onto the veranda, she saw that he was fidgeting with his mobile.

“Hi,” she said softly.

“Camille!” Richard stood up. “You look lovely. Do you have a date?” 

She smiled at him, “I hope so.”

“Oh, um…”

“With you, of course!” Camille gently touched his cheek and kissed him lightly.

“Oh, right, sorry, I’m not used to…” He held up his mobile, “I was trying to work out what to do, whether I should call you or go to see you or wait for you to call me.”

“I thought this would be the better place to talk.” 

“Yes. Right. I think out here is best. Let me drag out the other chair. And can I get you something to drink? Beer?”

“Just water.”

Richard moved the other large chair onto the veranda. As he went to get a bottle of water, he cursed the person who’d furnished the house. There was only one piece of furniture they could sit on together. And he wasn’t sure they were ready for that again.

Richard handed Camille a bottle of water, and sat facing her. He started to roll down his sleeves, but she reached forward to stop him.

“Please don’t do that. You don’t need to be _professional_ when we’re alone. And I like this look on you.”

Camille slid her hand from his forearm to his hand. He wrapped his hand around hers, and ran his thumb back and forth across her knuckles. Neither of them seemed to know what to say. 

Finally, Richard spoke. “I’m sorry. For… oh gosh, for so much. For putting you through all that misery and upset, for hurting you. I just… I panicked. I mean, I’d struggled for so long to fight it, loving you, wanting you. And I never thought you would, which should have made it easier, but it didn’t help. That night, I was so surprised at what we’d done. And you know me, I have to understand _why_ all the time. I had to dissect it, be a bloody detective.”

“Why couldn’t you just be happy about it?”

“I was afraid you would say it was a mistake. I needed to understand why I acted the way I did so that I could explain myself.”

“Preparing a defense? Did you think I was going to bring some sort of charge against you?”

“No! I was afraid I’d disappointed you, or failed to please you. What if you thought it wasn’t good enough? I—”

“Richard! How can you be so confident professionally and so insecure socially?”

“I’m good at crime, not good with people. Especially women.”

“Who was she? The bitch who said you aren’t good with women?”

“There wasn’t one catastrophic, life-destroying experience. But considering the number of times I’ve been left for someone better, I’ve come to expect it. I’ve been dumped in favor of someone taller, someone more athletic, someone who was more fun, someone who had more money…”

“But never someone who was smarter?”

“Well, no, but that isn’t a particularly attractive quality.”

“It is to me. And if a woman ever said she left you for someone who was better in bed, well, based on one night’s experience, I have to say that seems very unlikely.”

“Yeah, well, you’re probably going to have to hit me over the head to get a performance like that again. I’ve never been so uninhibited, so verbal. God, I can’t believe some of the things I said. And that _was_ the concussion. The desire was real, the expression of it was heightened.”

“Maman has seen a lot of drunks in her days of running a bar. She always says ‘What’s in you when you’re sober comes out when you’re drunk.’ And the concussion had the same kind of effect. So we know that sexy Richard is in there somewhere,” Camille moved to sit on his lap. “It’s my job to find him again.”

Richard wrapped his arms around Camille and gasped as his hands touched her bare back. “Half of your dress is missing!”

“It’s just very low at the back. I bought at a market, and didn’t try it on until much later, and then I couldn’t take it back. I haven’t worn it before because it’s so bare. I didn’t want to look like I was encouraging anything with a blind date. But I thought you might appreciate a little encouragement.”

“Consider me encouraged,” Richard lightly ran his fingertips up her spine. He smiled when she shivered. 

Camille kissed his neck and murmured, “Perhaps later, you’ll see just how encouraging this dress can be.”

“I like the sound of that.” He kissed her, and the kisses became deeper and more passionate. Richard discovered that the dress was also a bit loose at the side, and as he stretched to caress her side, she flinched.

“Are you ticklish?” he asked.

“Not usually. Sometimes after sex.”

“Mmm, must file that tidbit away for future use,” Richard said wickedly, and kissed her again.

When they broke for air, Camille asked, “Are you?”

“Am I what?”

“Ticklish?”

“No. Absolutely not.”

“Oooh,” she giggled. “THAT is a challenge.”

“Honestly, I’m not.”

“We’ll see about that,” Camille started to unbutton his shirt. She tried to kiss her way down his chest, but it was awkward to manoeuver in the wicker chair. “I think it’s time for a change of venue.”

She stood, and reached out her hand. Richard took it and stood in front of her.

“Before I become incapable of forming a rational thought or a coherent sentence, are we done talking?” he asked.

“Almost. I just want to say that you need to have more faith in us. You know what my temper is like. I tend to speak without thinking. And you, mon chèr Richard, do have a talent for being annoying. So if I get annoyed at you, please don’t assume we’re through. I blow up and then it blows over. I will try to control my temper, but I can’t promise I won’t ever get angry. And you can trust me not to leave you for someone taller or more fun or richer.

“Or less annoying?” 

“Not even that, and God knows there are plenty of men who are less annoying. But even when I was so hurt and angry that I had to go to another island to get away from you, I still was in love with you.”

As they walked into the house, Richard said, “I thought you hated me. I love you so much and I thought I’d ruined any chance with you. And yet here you are.”

“Here I am.” Camille slipped her arms around Richard’s neck. They kissed, and he ran his hands along her back. When one hand reached her neck, he explored the tie on the dress. It felt like a simple bow. He started to tug on it, then stopped. He pulled back, and Camille growled, “Don’t you dare stop now.”

“No, I just, um, are you sure?”

“Yes! Richard, are you nervous? We have done this before, you know.”

“No, we haven’t. That was sex. This is making love.”

“Then we should take our time and get it right.” Camille pushed him away and slowly undid the rest of the buttons on his shirt. She started to undo his belt, but he stopped her.

“My turn.” Richard reached around her neck and untied the bow. The dress slipped to the floor. Richard gasped at the sight of Camille wearing nothing but the tiniest of knickers. “Oh, God, you’re gorgeous!”

“I need to catch up,” she said, as she returned to working on his belt. 

“Wait!” Richard clutched at his trousers before they could fall to the floor.

“Wait? No!”

“Let me get to the bed before I trip. Are you trying to make me fall and get another concussion?”

Richard moved near the bed, and Camille grabbed his hands. As his trousers fell, she gave him a push that made him flop onto the bed. “No concussion, I want you to be conscious for this!”

Richard tried to kick this trousers off, but all he did was become tangled in them.

“Shh. Let me,” Camille said. “Scoot back.”

Richard scrambled backwards, and Camille knelt at his feet. Her tongue was pressed against her upper lip as she concentrated on this shoelace, and Richard marveled at how she could make removing his shoes look so sexy. 

“Ohhh,” he sighed. “I’m never going to be able to untie my shoes again without thinking of you like this.”

“I think I’m never going to be able to untie your shoes. Is this some mysterious knot known only to Englishmen?”

“It’s my own way of tying them, a kind of double knot.”

“Double knot. That’s so _you,_ Richard.”

“Let me do it.” Richard started to sit up, but Camille gave him a snap-point that sent him onto his back again.

“No, I’ll do it. I want to figure this out.”

“Stubborn,” he said. “That’s so _you._ Not that I’m complaining. I’m enjoying the view.”

Camille stopped working on the lace and swept her gaze up his body. Smiling at the effect she was having on him she said, “So am I.”

Camille found the right part of the knot, and the lace came undone. She pulled off his shoe and then his sock. She ran her finger lightly along the sole of his foot, and was disappointed to learn that he really wasn’t ticklish. 

“Told you,” he said. I’m not ticklish on my feet.”

“Ah, so there _is_ some place where you're ticklish?”

It was Richard’s turn to snap-point. “You can try to find out about that later, finish my shoe before the anticipation kills me!”

So Camille removed the other shoe and sock. Then she stood and oh, so slowly pulled his trousers off. She carefully straightened and folded them and turned to set them on a chair, enjoying the chance to tease him a bit more. But she forgot that Richard was now able to move. He crept up behind her and swept her into his arms. 

“Gotcha!” He crowed. Camille squealed, but made only a token effort at wriggling free. Richard dropped her gently on the bed and stood there, looking down at her sprawled on his bed. 

“Please tell me this is real, that this isn’t a dream.”

“It’s real. I’m real. Come see just how real this is.” Camille stretched out her arms. Richard lay down beside her. As they kissed and caressed, Camille murmured, “Can a dream to this? or this? or…”

“Or this?” asked Richard, as he pushed her onto her back and knelt above her. 

“No dream can be as good as this,” Camille breathed. “Love me, Richard. Please, love me now.”

Later, as they were catching their breath, Richard said, “No woman has ever said that.”

“Said what? We both said a lot of things.” She snuggled closer and kissed his neck.

“You asked me to _love you._ I mean, okay, I’ve heard _now_ or _please_ , or, um, other encouraging things. But you said _love me._ And you said my name.”

“I think I said it more than once, actually.” Camille propped herself up on her elbow and grinned down at him.

Richard chuckled, pleased with himself, “Yeah, you did. But I meant the way you said it at the beginning. I, um, oh this is too sappy.”

“Sappy?”

“Corny, uncool.”

“Tell me.” Camille kissed him and snuggled close again. “I won’t make fun of you, I promise.”

“Okay. But if you tell anyone I’m such a romantic, I’ll deny it. I realized it’s true what they say. You know, in songs and stories. Love really does make it even better.”


	12. Unsettled

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really need to finish some stories. I almost forgot this one wasn't quite done. I think there's one more chapter after this.

“Ouch!”

“What happened?” asked Camille as she rushed to the bathroom.

“Hit my thumb,” Richard replied as he glared at the hammer.

“Ohh, let me kiss it and make it better.” Camille reached out and took Richard’s hand in hers.

“It’s all your fault, anyway,” he grumbled. “I wouldn’t have to put up this shelf if you didn’t have so much stuff. What is all this makeup for? You don’t wear makeup.”

“Yes, I do.”

“You don’t look like it.”

“That’s the secret. If it’s done well, it all looks natural.”

“I think you look good natural. Or do I mean au naturel?” Richard gave Camille a suggestive look.

“When you’re finished, we can consider that.”

“This could take a while.”

“Oh, for pity’s sake, Richard. It’s only a shelf. What will you do when you have to put a crib together?”

“WHAT? Oww!” Richard exclaimed when he dropped the hammer on his foot. “You said you aren’t pregnant.”

“Relax, I’m not. But maybe someday…?”

“Well, when that day comes, I hope we’ll be living in something a bit better than a beach shack.”

-o-o-o-o-

“So what do you think, Dwayne?” Fidel asked as they walked back to the station after a tour of the market.

“About what?”

“The Chief and Camille.”

“Ah, that. Catherine said they had a fight—the Chief’s fault, of course—and then he apologized and they’re friends again.” 

“Yeah, I get that part. I don’t know what the argument was about, but it must have been huge. And now they’ve clearly made peace.”

“They’ve made a lot more than peace,” laughed Dwayne with a waggle of his eyebrows.

“You think?”

“Well, things were tense, then that backfire scared Camille. And now they’ve both changed. I mean, have you ever seen the Chief this relaxed? Or Camille so happy?”

“You’re right. They’ve definitely changed, especially the Chief. He took off his jacket AND his tie the other evening at La Kaz.”

“Yeah,” Dwayne nodded. “He’s trying to settle in. About time, too. I think we may have us a permanent Chief.”

-o-o-o-o-

Camille’s comment about a crib was stuck in Richard’s brain. They hadn’t discussed children beyond a “someday” kind of comment. Richard still hadn’t worked out when simply finding Camille attractive had changed to thinking of her as a friend, and now a lover. He still marveled at the relationship. The sex was fantastic, and he was amazed at how well he kept up with a younger woman. But it was so much more than that. This was the kind of loving relationship that he’d given up hoping for. 

Richard wanted it to be long-term, and it seemed Camille felt the same way. But how to manage it, given that they worked together? They couldn’t get married in secret. Well, they _could,_ but the likelihood of it remaining a secret was small. It was difficult enough to keep what they had now a secret. If they married, there would be public records, paperwork with the department about benefits and beneficiaries. And if part of being married was having a family, well, that could not be kept a secret. 

“What’s wrong?” Camille’s question interrupted his thoughts.

“Nothing’s wrong.”

“You haven’t turned a page in your book in several minutes. And you keep sighing.”

“Sighs of contentment, I promise.” Richard stood and stretched. “I’m going to check my email.”

He kissed the top of Camille’s head and walked into the shack. She watched him sit at the desk and turn on his computer. She hoped the sighs truly were contentment. She knew that Richard hated sneaking around. It was silly, she had to admit. They were adults. Surely their private business was just that. Private. Their own. They had talked about simply going to the Commissioner and explaining the situation and asking for… for what, exactly? Permission? Forgiveness? Now it was Camille’s turn to sigh.

Richard looked at the list of emails. Nothing new from his mother. He’d emailed her to say he was thinking of asking to stay on Saint Marie long-term. She’d eventually managed to get him to tell her about Camille. Not about the sex. One did NOT tell one’s mother about that. He’d told Mum that he was in love, but not sure how to arrange to stay with Camille. Her reply was that he should have faith in love and remember to send her a wedding invitation. A wedding. Well, that was hardly a secret event. He’d tried to bring up the subject a few times, but there was always some kind of distraction. Their most quiet moments were in bed after sex, but he didn’t want to propose then. He blushed at the thought of their child asking “Dad, how did you propose to Mum?” 

A new email popped up that might solve at least some of their problems.


	13. Sneaking Around

“I hate this,” said Camille as she pulled on her clothes. “You have to be out of my place by ten, I have to leave yours by midnight.”

“I know. I wish you could stay. But we need to keep it quiet for a while,” Richard replied. “I worry that someone is going to see one of us walking home at an unusual hour and say something. You know how gossip runs through this island.”

“Well, it is a small island. And gossip is one of the main entertainments.”

“Don’t I know it. Listen, I’ve been thinking—”

“No! Whatever it is, I’m not sure I want to hear it. Nothing good ever starts with _listen._ ”

“No, Camille, it’s good. At least I think it is. Let’s go away for a weekend. I got an email from La Belle Plage to sign up for last-minute bookings. If we’ve got what looks like a light weekend, we can sneak away. Maybe just Saturday and Sunday, but it would be time when nobody could bother us. We could take the ferry to Guadeloupe separately, meet up there and take the little boat over to the resort.”

“What if someone sees us?”

“I’ll put most of our things into a case and say that I’m going away for the weekend, maybe do some sightseeing on another island. You can carry a beach tote and look like you’re going to a beach over there. We can sort of bump into each other getting off the ferry, just a coincidence, no big deal.”

“That could work.”

“So shall I check to see what’s available?”

“Yes!” Camille sat on the edge of the bed and kissed Richard, “That is such a romantic idea. I love you!”

“I love you, too. But don’t kiss me again, or I’ll forget all about you needing to go home.”

“Ohhhkay,” she pouted as she stood up. “But will you do something for me?”

“What?”

“But a pair of shorts for the resort. And something to swim in.” She blew him a kiss and left before he could answer.

“Shorts,” he mumbled to himself. And swim trunks, and flip-flops. And if he was going to stay, he realized he would have to get rid of the wool suits and wear something lighter. He had some shopping to do anyway, might as well face up to a new wardrobe. But not in Honoré. As much as he’d like to support the local merchants, the anonymity of the new shopping area near the large resorts would be a safer bet. And then he could surprise Camille with his purchases.

-o-o-o-o-

Richard convinced Camille that wearing his suit on the ferry was a good idea. He did have some new clothes, and she’d get to see them when they were at the resort. But he had to look normal on the way to the ferry. She’d rolled her eyes and pointed out that there was nothing normal about a heavy wool suit in the tropics, but Richard held firm and they had their plan organized. 

Camille arrived at the ferry early. Richard arrived in time to board but with very little extra time. If luck was on his side, nobody would see him. But luck was not on his side.

“Inspector!” the Commissioner’s voice boomed out, and Camille retreated into the crowd. “Going somewhere?”

“Um, yes, weekend away. Thought I should, you know, see another island.”

“Ah, good idea. Bit of a break is always good. Guadeloupe has some lovely resorts. We’re just going for the day, shopping.” He gave Richard a conspiratorial _what we men put up with_ smile. 

Richard greeted Mrs. Patterson, and the three sat together in the lower enclosed area. From where he sat, Richard was pretty sure he saw a familiar pair of legs climb up to the top deck. So far, so good.

When the ferry arrived in Guadeloupe, Richard waved the Pattersons ahead. “You go on. I’ve got my case, so I’ll let the crowd go ahead of me.”

From the upper deck, Camille watched the Pattersons leave the ferry. She was one of the last to reach the gangway, not far from Richard. No point in the _what are you doing here?_ conversation they’d planned. Nobody was paying any attention to them. 

“That was close!” said Camille as they walked to the next pier to catch the boat to the island. 

“I know! I think I need to change my underpants,” Richard joked.

“No nuns around to inspect to make sure,” Camille grinned. “But I can inspect you if you’d like.”

Richard blushed.

Camille laughed and said, “A little warm, Inspector?” She linked her arm through his, and he kissed her temple.

From a waterfront café, the Pattersons watched the two detectives board the resort’s boat. 

“Oh, Selwyn,” said his wife, “Isn’t that sweet? A romantic weekend getaway. I wonder where they’re going.”

The Commissioner smiled, “I can find out.” He took out his mobile, found the list of resorts and made a call. He said his secretary had forgotten to tell him which hotel his Chief of Police was staying at, and he needed the contact information, in case of emergency.

“Got it on the first try. La Belle Plage.”

“Oh, that’s a lovely place. And the tents are so romantic!”

“Don’t start that, Cecile. I like La Belle Plage, but I am too old for that tent nonsense. Leave that to the young lovers.” 

“I wonder how long it’s been going on?”

“Probably not long. Everyone knows, but we’re all letting it go unacknowledged. Things were rocky between them for a while, but they sorted it out, so I’m not going to interfere. Not when the Honoré station is running more smoothly than ever.” He grinned at his wife and said, “But it explains why he was even more nervous than usual at the sight of me.”

-o-o-o-o-

As the boat pulled away from the harbor, Camille accepted a rum punch from the waiter and convinced Richard to try one, too. 

“Home free!” she said, clinking her plastic cup against his. Then she set her cup down and removed Richard’s tie. She ran her fingers down the lapel of his jacket and sighed, “You were right. You looked like your usual self, nothing to make the Commissioner suspicious. But you can take it off now.”

So Richard removed his jacket, folded it neatly, and dropped it into Camille’s oversized tote bag. 

“What’s in there?” he asked.

“Surprises,” she said, rummaging in the bag—and rumpling the jacket. She pulled out sunglasses. “You really should wear these, especially with your light-colored eyes. Did I mention how much I love your eyes? Such a beautiful color, and so expressive.”

He put on the sunglasses.

“Ooh, they look good on you!” Camille smiled. “I’m glad I got these and not the rose-colored retro granny glasses.

“Seriously?” Richard looked aghast.

“No, silly, of course not.”

“You’re a crazy person, Camille, you know that, right?”

She wrapped her arms around his neck and whispered, “Yup, crazy about you!”

-o-o-o-o-

When they arrived at La Belle Plage, their room wasn’t ready. The desk clerk suggested they have lunch on the terrace. By the time they finished, their room would be ready. 

They had a leisurely lunch. Richard was pleased to discover that the French beer Camille had chosen for him was delicious. He took a sip, leaned his head back and sighed. Camille smiled. She hadn’t fallen in love with him for his looks. He certainly wasn’t ugly, but he wasn’t drop-dead gorgeous, either. No, she loved him for his _Richardness,_ the combination of brilliance and awkwardness that was uniquely his. 

“What?” Richard’s question pulled Camille out of her reverie. 

“Hmm?”

“What were you thinking about? You were off in the ether somewhere.”

“Oh. Thinking about you. How different you look when you’re relaxed. How much younger you look when you aren’t scowling. How the sunlight picks up the red in your hair.”

“What I have of it.”

“Don’t do that, Richard!”

“I can’t help it. I think about it a lot. Not my hair, specifically. But I’m older than you are and it shows. And you’re so beautiful…”

“So is that what this is about? You love me because I’m pretty?”

“God, no! I mean, yes, you’re pretty. You’re gorgeous. But what I love most about you is that you’re smart and confident and fearless. You’re fiercely loyal to your friends. You’re kind and generous. You’re… ” Richard gestured helplessly. “You’re _you/_.”

“And that’s how I feel about you. Looks may be part of an initial attraction. But a relationship is sustained by the things that really matter. By the kind of person you are. Love only thrives when there is respect, trust, being each other’s best friend.” Camille grinned mischievously and ran a finger along Richard’s cheekbone. “And it doesn’t hurt that you look adorable when you freckle.”

“Oh, God. Am I starting to burn?”

“Maybe. We should see if the room is ready. You know, spend some time indoors?”

-o-o-o-o-

“You’re in luck, sir,” said the clerk. “We had a cancellation. You’ve got a tent.”

Camille squealed in delight. “A tent! Oh, Richard, that’s fantatastic!” 

“The bellman has delivered your bags. Would you care to pre-order dinner now?” asked the clerk.

“Yes, please,” Richard answered.

They looked over the menu and made their choices quickly. Camille wandered outside while Richard returned the menu and collected the key. 

The clerk handed Richard a map of the resort and showed where the tent was located. He said, “Someone will be over late afternoon to set up for dinner. The room comes with a welcome bottle of champagne. Would you like that delivered now or with the set-up?”

“We’ve just had lunch, so with the set-up will be fine.”

“Very good, sir. The set-up will be around five, and we will be sure to phone before anything else is delivered. And, um, bonne chance.”

Richard blushed and mumbled an embarrassed “Merci”.


	14. Getting Caught

Camille looked up as Richard crossed the lobby. Why was he blushing?

“What’s that about?”

“What’s what about?

“You’re blushing!”

“Just, um, flushed with the heat. We are in the tropics, you know.”

Camille narrowed her eyes at him. “Really? That’s the best you can come up with?”

“When I made the reservation, there was a place for a comment, and I said, um, well…” Richard glanced at the number on the tag and found a distraction. “Oh, look, it’s nine. It’s the tent I had before. Is that okay?”

“Yes, it’s fine. Why do you ask?”

“Memories? We weren’t exactly on good terms that day. You were still angry with me. And rightly so.”

“We’ve put that behind us, Richard. I think that night was a turning point, a start on the path toward finding each other again.”

“I was afraid it was hopeless. I thought you hated me. Then you asked me not to quit and I thought that just maybe I might be able to atone for being an idiot and convince you how much I love you.”

They climbed the steps to the tent and Camille smiled when she remembered Richard sitting in the Jacuzzi. “We’ll have to give that a try,” she said, pointing to it.

“I have swim trunks this time.”

“That’s for the beach. I intend for us to spend a lot of time naked. Starting now.” She began to unbutton his shirt. He swatted at her hands.

“Can we at least go inside?” He unlocked the door and they saw that his case and her tote were in the room.

“Oh, good,” Camille said. “Show me what you bought.”

Camille approved his choice of shorts, but complained about the lack of casual shirts. He tried to mollify her by saying that he’d also ordered a suit.

“A suit? Why?”

“Something lightweight. It’s time to shed the London clothes and go with something more comfortable. I should have done it long ago, but I was set in my ways. I realize now what an idiot I looked like.”

“Well then, get out of the idiotic clothes.” Camille resumed unbuttoning his shirt. “What should we try first, the Jacuzzi or the bed?”

“The bed.”

-o-o-o-o-

“Ohhh, God! That was fantastic!” Richard rolled onto his back, pulling Camille with him. She sat up, straddling him, and smiled.

“It was,” she nodded. “It was like—Richard, were you hit on the head again? You were so uninhibited, like that first time.”

“Sorry, too verbal?”

“No,” she giggled. “I quite like it. And before you start worrying that it isn’t always this good, it _is_ always good. I think we’re great together. This was just a different kind of good.”

“I think it’s being here, alone. I mean really alone. Phones off, no neighbors, nobody likely to drop by unannounced.”

“Nobody to catch us?”

“Exactly. And also…” Richard smiled and rolled Camille onto her back. “A huge bed to challenge our creativity.”

-o-o-o-o-

“Maybe we should have asked for the champagne earlier,” said Camille as they recuperated in the hot tub.

“No.” Richard replied. “It isn’t a good idea to drink while you’re sitting in here.”

“Unhygeinic?”

“No, well, not unless you spill your drink. It’s just that alcohol impairs your ability to sense when you’re overheating. It isn’t good to get too hot.”

Camille slid her foot along Richard’s leg. “You certainly were hot earlier.”

Richard grabbed her foot and was about to tickle her when a voice at the bottom of the stairs called up, “Hello? Dinner set-up.”

“Just a minute!” Richard called out. Giggling, Camille got out of the tub, grabbed a towel, and ran to the bathroom.

Once Richard got his robe around him, he called down, “Thank you for waiting, you may come up now.”

Richard took the champagne and canapés to the small fridge. When he returned to the veranda, the waiter handed him another package.

“It’s some pastries and juice for the morning. We don’t put kettles or coffeemakers in the tents, but we thought you might like a little something for the morning before you order breakfast.”

Blushing again (and inwardly cursing his fair coloring that made it so obvious), Richard carried the package into the tent. The waiter finished setting the table, wished Richard “bonne chance,” and left. 

“Richard? The water’s running!” Camille called from the shower.

-o-o-o-o-

Dressed in his new shorts and one of the t-shirts Camille had bought (knowing he wouldn’t buy any), Richard stood on the veranda and opened the bottle. Camille emerged a minute later, and Richard handed her a flute of champagne. 

“What’s that?” she asked, pointing toward the package in the tent.

“Pastries for tomorrow morning. And there’s juice in the fridge. It’s in case we need sustenance before room service can get here with a proper breakfast. Good Lord, Camille, they must think we’ll be at it the entire time we’re here.”

Camille smiled and slid her hand up Richard’s chest and around his neck, “We could try.”

“I appreciate your faith in me, Camille, but I do have my limits. And I think sustenance is in order now. So nibble on something—” seeing her wicked grin, he pointed to the table and said, “From the tray.”

They tasted the canapés and sipped champagne in silence for a while. Then Camille said, “This is nice. I’m glad we got the same tent.”

“Replacing bad memories?”

“Not all bad. Yes, we were angry, and emotions were raw. But maybe we needed that, to stop bottling things up.”

Richard took Camille’s hand in his. “Perhaps we did. When you offered to quit so that I wouldn’t have to… That you would give up your career to solve our problems… Nobody has ever offered to do something so selfless for me.”

“When you said you would try to go back to London, it was like you were shot all over again. I couldn’t bear the thought of losing you.”

A tear slipped down Camille’s cheek and Richard reached out to wipe it away. “Shh, you won’t lose me. Whatever happens, we’ll work things out together.”

“Whatever happens… you mean the Commissioner, don’t you?”

“Well, there are rules. I can never quite figure out which ones count and which ones can be ignored.”

“Sometimes I think it’s at the mercy of the Commissioner’s mood.”

“Hmm.” Richard thought for a moment and said, “We could go Spartacus on him.”

“Spartacus?”

“You know, where everyone claims to be Spartacus so the Romans can’t pick him out of the group?”

“I know the reference, but I’m not sure how it applies to us.”

“Think back to that night. I’ll quit. No, you shouldn’t quit, I will.”

“Ahhh!” Camille smiled. “Got it!”

“I’ll quit, sir,” said Richard firmly. “I’m her superior and I should never have let anything happen between us.”

“No, sir,” Camille joined in the role-playing. “I should be the one to quit. The junior officer always takes the fall.”

“No, it should be me. Perhaps I can get a transfer.”

“No, really, it should be me. Maybe I can get an undercover assignment.”

“That’s too dangerous Camille, I couldn’t ask you to do that. I’ll quit.”

“No, I will.”

“Maybe we both should quit.”

Their little improv was interrupted by the phone, a reminder that dinner would be arriving in fifteen minutes.

“Did they do that last time?” Camille asked. “I don’t remember a call.”

“Perhaps it’s a new policy.”

“I suppose. Or is it something you asked for? Earlier you mentioned something about a comment on the reservation. What did you say?”

Richard shrugged, “Nothing.”

“Reesharrrd,” Camille growled. “What did you—omigod! Did you tell them it’s our honeymoon? Is that why we got the tent cancellation?”

“No.”

“Swear?”

“I swear, Camille, I did not tell them it’s our honeymoon.” _I want to save that for when it’s true._

-o-o-o-o-

“Are you sure you don’t want another taste before I finish it?” Camille held up a spoonful of chocolate mousse.”

“No thanks. It’s far more enjoyable to watch you eat it.”

“It’s sooo good,” Camille sighed. “I think there’s some coffee left. Would you like more?”

“No, I believe I’ve reached my caffeine limit. If I drink any more coffee, I’ll be awake all night.” Seeing the amused lift of Camille’s eyebrows, Richard grumbled, “Good Lord, Camille! You’re insatiable!”

“Only when it comes to you.” She licked the last of the mousse from the spoon and added, “and chocolate.”

“Don’t forget to lick your shirt. There’s a bit of chocolate on it.”

“Merde! I better put water on it right away.” Camille ran into the tent, pulling the shirt off as she ran.”

The waiter arrived to clear up while Camille was still rinsing the shirt. He held out a bottle of champagne. “I’m sorry, sir. This should have been delivered with your dinner. Shall I open it?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t…” Richard called into the tent, “Camille, did you order more champagne?”

“No, but it’s a nice idea.”

“It’s a gift,” said the waiter, handing a card to Richard. He watched Richard read the note, then said, “Sir? Shall I open it?”

“Hmm? Um, no. I’ll put it in the fridge. Thank you.”

The waiter finished clearing the table and had just left when Camille returned to the veranda.

“I think I got it clean. Did you find out where the champagne came from?”

“Mmm hmm.”

“Richard? Are you all right?”

“Yes, I think we’re going to be very much all right.” He handed her the card.

Camille’s eyes widened as she read:   
_I hope you are enjoying your weekend together. You have an extra day, courtesy of Cecile and me. Don’t worry about Honoré. Everything will be fine._  
_S Patterson_

“Wow,” she breathed as she sank into a chair. “Is this what I think it is?”

“You mean an official approval? I believe it is.”

“How did he know we’re here?”

“With his connections? He can find out anything. All that work to sneak away… I was good on the boat, said what I’d planned to say about seeing another island. Casual.” He paused when Camille rolled her eyes. “Okay, as casual as I can ever be around that man.”

“They must have seen us walking to the other pier. I saw them head in the other direction, and I thought we were safe. I suppose we should have dawdled on the ferry a bit longer.”

“I suppose. On the other hand, it saves us from the ordeal of having to stand there and tell him in person.” Richard shuddered at the thought.

“True. And we won’t have to try the bluff of offering to quit.”

Richard took the note from Camille and read it again. “I don’t believe in signs and portents, but I may make an exception for this. This is a sign that I did the right thing.”

“What do you mean?”

“When I was shopping I bought something for you. It’s just tourist tat, but consider it an i.o.u. for something better.”

“What is it?”

Richard reached into his pocket and pulled out a ring. “It will probably turn your finger green, and I apologize for that. I couldn’t buy anything better because I don’t know the right size and this is adjustable. Plus, there’s the island gossip to consider. It would have been embarrassing if I’d bought the real one, and you said no. But I wanted to have something to give you so that you’d know I mean it, that I’d really thought about it. I’ve known for some time that there is nothing in the world I want so much as to spend my life with you. I just needed the right setting to ask. Camille, will you marry me?”

“Yes! Absolutely, yes!” She moved to sit in his lap and they kissed. Camille held out her hand to admire her ring. 

“I am going to buy something better, I promise.”

“I know. But I’ll always treasure this.” Camille paused, and then the light lit. “Richard! Is that what you told the hotel? That this was a proposal weekend?”

He nodded. “I wanted a special setting for this. You didn’t have a proper courtship. I thought I could at least give you a proper proposal.”

“That’s so sweet! No wonder the waiter was looking at my hand when he brought dinner. He must have been looking to see if you’d asked yet. Do all the staff know?”

“I’m beginning to think so. I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve been wished ‘bonne chance’ today. And it worked. I feel incredibly lucky. I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

“Should we open the Commissioner’s gift to celebrate?” Richard asked when they broke for air.

“Later,” Camille smiled. “We’ve got other celebrating to do first.”


End file.
